


The Art of Self-Defense

by cgner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7402774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgner/pseuds/cgner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily got pregnant at sixteen and left Hogwarts to work at an inn. After seventeen years of single parenting, she now has to manage a persistent James, nosy villagers, and a son who's all too interested in joining the Order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Self-Defense

**Author's Note:**

> I may have broken some English cultural norms in this piece. The perils of merging HP characters with an American television show…
> 
> Thanks to Linds, Karaline, and Ayesha for helping me out with this piece.

Lily’s in the middle of calmly explaining to Mrs. Wixton that she’s sending up a bottle of champagne to compensate for the towel shortage when the main door swings open. She glances over, hoping beyond hope it’s her linen man arriving with towels, sheets, and a massive apology.

It’s not.

Mrs. Wixton shakes her wrinkled finger at Lily from across the front desk, but Lily barely notices.

There James stands, slightly crooked, somehow never fully able to use both his legs equally at the same time. His dark hair and matching black t-shirt stand out vividly against the cream double doors behind him. He’s paused on the step leading down to the lobby, watching her. One hand tangles in his hair when he sees Lily noticing him.

_Hi_ , he mouths.

Her world narrows down to the curve of his lips, his vaguely lopsided glasses, and those stupid, awful, world-changing hands.

Mrs. Wixton’s sharp, “ _Pardon?_ ” yanks Lily back into the rest of reality.

“Yes, of course,” Lily says to her, wrenching her gaze away from James. In the corner of her eye she sees him hop down the step and saunter toward the desk. “We’d be happy to send up a complimentary breakfast.” She waits for Mrs. Wixton to wheeze out her final grumbles, and reassures her once more that the first towels that come in will go directly to her room (just like Lily has told every other guest). Once Mrs. Wixton has waddled over to the lift, Lily permits herself a small sigh and watches James close the remaining distance between them.

He rests his forearm against her beloved oak desk, his sleeve just covering up the top of the guest book. He’s wearing his favorite smile, the slanted one with only a hint of teeth showing.

It is absolutely not working on her. She won’t let it. She is thirty-four years old and is not thick enough to let that smile get her into trouble anymore.

Or so she tells herself. The swooping sensation in her stomach begs to differ, but Lily has also given up on having conversations with her stomach. Mostly, anyway. Somehow it’s always had a mind of its own when it comes to James.

“I’m thinking of holding a conference,” he says. “D’you have fifty rooms available tomorrow night?”

“Depends,” Lily says with a grin. “What’s the conference for?”

“The Tragically Too Handsome conference. I, for one, am sick and tired of being treated differently because I’m stunning, and I think it’s about time I meet similarly positioned men.”

“So it’s just you and Sirius at the conference, then?”

“Just Sirius. I don’t find my fitness off-putting. I live for the special treatment.”

“This comes as a complete and absolute shock to me.”

“I’d worry about your delicate constitution but I know much better than that.”

They’re both grinning at each other, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been seven months since she last saw him (for the whole five minutes it took to pick up Harry from James’s house) or two years since they last slept together (also at James’s house, out on his balcony after Easter dinner, a complete and utter mistake). There’s something about talking to James that’s like slipping into her oldest, most comfortable pair of jeans.

“You’re two weeks early,” she says because she cannot get caught up in this again. She needs to get him out before Harry hears him.

“A wizard is never late, nor is he early—”

“Tolkien didn’t know wizards were real, and Harry’s birthday’s not until the thirty-first.”

He stands upright, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Almost like it happens on the same date every year. I think there’s a term for that – weekly? Daily? There’s got to be a –ly word for it….”

“And he’s got a broom.”

“From me.”

“Yes,” she says, biting back a sting of resentment. “He doesn’t need another. Or anything else. Which brings me back to my point: why are you here?”

He shrugs. “I was nearby, thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“Nearby. You were near Alderly Row, the town so remote we’ve got enough sheep that they could successfully stage a coup.”

“From what you’ve told me about the town government, that might actually be an improvement.” At Lily’s look, he clears his throat. “I’m here for a bit of this, bit of that—”

“Dad!”

Lily swallows her retort as Harry comes bolting out of the back office. He careens around the desk and hurls himself into James’s arms, the way he hasn’t with Lily in several years. Harry’s too cool to hug his mum in public these days, but apparently an unexpected appearance from his father can make even a nearly seventeen-year-old boy dismiss other people’s opinions.

Seeing her son and his father hug sends a jolt of fear through Lily. Not because she thinks James can steal him away—he can’t—but because Harry has truly become the spitting image of his father. They’re nearly of a height now, and their hair blends together seamlessly as they embrace.

She won’t let Harry become exactly like James, though. She won’t let him repeat his father’s mistakes.

Summer sun floods through the wide lobby windows and catches on the boys’ glasses. The boys’ matching glasses, in fact. She hadn’t put it together when Harry had picked them out, but there’s no question of who inspired him.

The fireplace near the end of the desk chimes.

She’s loathe to leave James alone with Harry, but she has a job to do. As she slips down toward the fireplace, she overhears James tease Harry about Cho Chang and winces. Harry hasn’t fancied Cho since autumn. He’s been pining after Alicia Spinnet ever since, trying to work up the nerve to talk to her outside the Quidditch pitch. If only Quidditch games hadn’t been canceled this past year, he might’ve spent enough time with her to be able to relax around her.

If only the Tournament hadn’t happened this year, she wouldn’t keep waking up in the middle of the night gasping for breath, her sheets soaked.

Lily kneels down on the hearth pad and forces the swell of panic away because she is a professional. She glances down toward James, draws her wand out of her robe pocket, and opens the Floo connection. Surely he can’t wreak that much damage in five minutes.

“This is Lily at the front desk. How may I help you?”

\--

By the time she’s convinced another guest not to leave over the towel situation, and by the time she’s finally got Manny on the Floo with a promise to be there with linens in twenty minutes, James and Harry have disappeared. She puts one of her staff in charge of the front desk and goes in search of her son.

She finds them sitting across from each other in the dining room, each with a heaping bowl of ice cream in front of him.

“You didn’t get me any?” she tells Harry, pulling up a chair from another table. “I’m wounded.”

“I was going to give you half of mine.” He holds out his spoon to her. “That way we’ll both be able to eat cake for lunch.”

“Good boy.” She reaches out to ruffle up his hair, but he ducks away. Merlin, but he’s getting old so quickly. She’s not going to be denied, though, and lifts up in her seat to close the gap between her hand and his hair. Once she’s mussed it a bit, she sits back down and takes a bite of his ice cream.

“Cake for lunch?” James says, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a wonder you’re as tall as you are.”

“I’m going to be taller than you, actually,” Harry informs him. “The Healer said so.”

“If the Healer said so, then I’ll have to initiate my plans to keep you shorter than me forever. Tell me, do you like your shins? I’d be happy to remove them for you, free of charge.”

“Well,” Harry says thoughtfully, “Mum’s always complaining about constantly having to buy me new robes.”

“I can fix that for you. And then you’ll always be my little boy.”

“This _little boy_ could trounce you on a broom,” Harry says, with bravado that speaks volumes about his parentage.

“Even after a year of no Quidditch? Rotten luck, by the way – can’t believe they canceled it for that bloody tournament….”

Harry hunches over his ice cream, and Lily reaches out to rub his shoulder.

“You’ll be captain next year for sure,” James says, completely oblivious to his son’s downcast eyes.

He can’t be completely unaware of Diggory’s death. More likely he hasn’t put it together that Diggory and Harry were Quidditch competitors.

“Yeah,” Harry says hollowly. “Charlie says he’ll come back and argue with McGonagall if I’m not.”

“Wish he’d have taken a fall of his broom years ago, eh? Let you off the bench earlier….”

At least that gets Harry away from sinking into a funk, even if James still isn’t winning himself any points.

“Charlie taught me everything I know about Seeking,” Harry says. He’s still over the moon about James’s appearance, so his usual fire isn’t behind it, but Lily can see him on the verge of bristling.

Lily makes _shut up_ eyes at James, who coughs and takes a bite of ice cream.

“Right, well,” he says. “Fancy showing me around town, Harry?”

“He’s working, just like I am,” Lily says. “A pair of working stiffs, us. Except we’re not stiff. Couple of working looses?”

“Mu-um,” Harry says, stealing back his spoon. “Please? Dad came all the way out here to see us.”

Either she can hold firm and be the imposing, overbearing mum, or she can let James set Harry up for another heartbreak. Lovely.

“It’s today or nothing,” James says. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Work?” she says. “Are you sure you didn’t mean _have a lie-in_? I find I confuse the two a lot myself.”

“Very true,” Harry says, and Lily slaps him lightly on the forearm. “Child abuser,” he adds.

“No, I’ve got to work.” James clears his throat. “I’ve got a job.”

Harry’s face lights up. “Where?”

Her son doesn’t know James like she does. He isn’t intimately familiar with James’s tell, the slight rub of his thumb against his forefinger, that means he’s lying.

Lily won’t make a scene in her inn’s dining room, though. They’re already bleeding profits today with all the gifts to make up for missing towels.

“Yes,” she says, leveling a sharp smile at James. “Do tell us where.”

James’s glance lingers too long on her – he knows she’s onto him.

“Just some boring bodyguard work,” he says. “No one famous.”

“Brilliant.” Harry grins. “Can you get me a summer job there? I could live the rest of my life without casting another sheet-folding spell.”

“What will you do when you live on your own?” Lily asks.

“Easy. I’ll only have one set of sheets,” Harry tells her. “When they’re dirty, I’ll wash them—”

“You mean once a year?”

“Twice a year, thanks – and then I’ll put them right back on the bed.”

James leans forward across the table. “Harry. Let me give you some fatherly advice.” He beckons Harry, who obediently leans in. “Girls _love_ clean sheets.”

Harry’s face goes beet red. “ _Dad_.”

“It’s true.” James sits back and winks at Lily. “Of course, you could always avoid the bed altogether—”

Lily face feels like a furnace—Harry’s conception had been a quick tryst in an empty classroom, up against the wall—but James is too caught up in embarrassing Harry to notice. Or so she hopes.

Harry’s halfway out of his seat. “I think I need to get back to work—”

“No, don’t.” James reaches across the table to pull at his wrist, and Harry halts immediately. “I promise, I’ll stop.”

Harry, dear that he is, turns to Lily. Even if she hadn’t already made up her mind, the concerned expression on his face would have won him his time with James.

“Mum?” he asks. “Are you all right if I go?”

“Let’s go see how much work you have left,” she says, “and then we’ll decide.”

He nods, standing up fully, and James releases his grip.

“We’ll be right back,” she tells James as she pushes back in her chair, legs squeaking against the hardwood floors. “If you touch our ice cream, I’ll know and I’ll make sure you don’t have any more children, accidentally or intentionally.”

James smiles, but she sees through the tense lines around his mouth that show she’s struck deep. It shouldn’t feel good, but it floods her stomach with bitter warmth all the same.

Oh, the things she does when James is around.

\--

“You’re going to tell me to be careful,” Harry says once they’ve enclosed themselves in the back office.

“Hardly,” she scoffs. “I’m not that predictable.”

“Yes. You are.”

The few candles on iron brackets around the wall paint streaks of shadows on Harry’s narrow face.

“Well, all right, I am,” she says, hopping up to sit on the edge of her personal desk. A few papers shuffle underneath her, but it’s nothing a few spells can’t sort out. “Harry,” she says, sliding her hand into his and drawing him closer. “I know you love visits from your dad, but you can’t get your hopes up, all right?”

“I’m not hoping for anything,” he says, but he’s not looking at her. “I know he’ll probably miss my birthday now.”

“Probably,” Lily admits.

“But he’s never come _here_ before. He’s never been to Alderly Row.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to see here. You do live here, right? The most exciting thing that happens here is bingo night.”

“Exactly. He came for _us_.”

The depth of his eagerness settles around Lily’s heart and squeezes.

“Sweetie,” she says, “I know he’s a lot of fun to be around, but I don’t want to watch you get excited only to have him disappear without a word for another year.”

“Maybe he’s changed.”

“How old are you turning this month?”

Harry sends her a flat look.

“It’s been seventeen years,” she says, “and he hasn’t changed, all right? I mean, some, but not…. It’s you and me. And I love that it’s you and me, don’t ever get me wrong on that front, but you know him.”

He tugs his arm out of her grasp and starts to turn away. “Yeah. I do.”

She stands up and, his wishes be damned, wraps him in a warm embrace. “Have fun with him, but try to keep your expectations in line, and watch out for…for trouble, all right?”

“Yeah, if I were a Death Eater, I’d definitely pick Alderly Row as my first target.”

“Hush. Just keep an eye out.”

His arms come up to return her hug, settling on top of hers as they have for the past year. Her son wasn’t exaggerating – she’s had to replace his robes several times within the past year because Harry, of course, wants to be as tall as his dad, and is doing a very good job of achieving his goal.

With Harry as touch-shy as he is in public these days, this hug is something to be savored. She can feel his heartbeat steady in his chest, alive and strong and close to her.

“I will,” he says into her hair. “On both fronts.”

This is going to end with Harry miserable for his birthday, but she can’t make him unhappy right now, not when he wants it so desperately.

The same old trap, and they’re entering into it willingly.

“Good.” She steps back and rests her hands on his shoulders, muscles lean beneath his shirt. “Now go show him around. Maybe he’ll be so fascinated by the emu farm that he’ll be back for your birthday to see it again.”

“Our one tourist attraction might be enough to convince him to buy a house here.”

“I’ve never asked him his opinion on emus. Maybe he’s an emu fan. Maybe he races emus. We’d never know.”

“Can’t believe we didn’t see through his bodyguard lie. Should’ve known it was code for emu racer.”

“Yeah,” Lily says tightly, linking an arm through his. “Can’t believe we didn’t.”

\--

She sends them off and returns to her position at the front desk. She has bills to sort out, a bellboy to reprimand for sneaking off to smoke Alipotsy on his break, and a complaint to make with Manny’s superior. (He arrived with the towels while Lily was in the dining room, and escaped before she could have strong words with him.) The million small tasks of her job happily draw her attention away from wondering just how badly Harry is going to be hurt later on.

After changing into Muggle clothes, she stops to get Chinese takeaway and chips for the three of them. She hasn’t asked if James is staying for dinner. If he is, there’s plenty, and if he isn’t, then she and Harry will have one more day of leftovers to tide them over during the week.

Some days, like today, she forgets that she can’t just Levitate the food home, and has to endure the plastic bag handles biting into her fingers the whole walk home. She usually doesn’t mind Muggles, but by the time she drops the bags onto her front steps and sees the vivid red imprints on her hands, she’s had it.

“Bloody Muggles,” she mutters.

“Training to be a Death Eater?”

Lily’s wand is in her hand in a flash, her mouth opening as she spins around to face—

The boys. Of course.

“She’s completely calm all the time,” Harry says.

James stoops down to pick up the bags while Lily opens a hole in the wards, her heart still galloping in her chest, her breaths strained and shallow.

“Did you show him the emu farm?” Lily asks as Harry walks past her.

“Fascinating creatures,” James says, en route to the kitchen. “I should get one.”

“Merlin knows you’ve got enough space in that house to import the whole farm,” she calls after him, shutting the door behind her.

“It’s inherited!” he replies.

She sags her back against the front door, one hand still clutching the handle behind her, adrenaline still leaping through her limbs. They’re all safe, she tells herself. For now, at least.

It’s been so long since she felt this way, and yet simmering fear has effortlessly leapt back into her life, as if it never left at all.

“You all right?” Harry asks quietly, his hands in his jeans pockets.

“Long day at work.” She forces a smile. “I ordered everything on the chicken menu.”

Harry beams. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think you were all talk.”

“Also chips because it is a house rule to always get chips.” She slides her hand onto his lower back to guide him into the kitchen. “Did you have a nice time?”

He nods, but she can feel the tension in his body, which is no doubt preparing for the fallout after James leaves.

Their house isn’t much—they lived in the caretaker’s hut behind the inn for a large chunk of Harry’s life, and this is only somewhat larger than that—but the kitchen is big enough to fit a small table and four chairs, as well as all the Chinese leftovers the village has to offer. Evening sun filters in through the window over the sink and bathes the room in gold.

James has managed to open up every cabinet door, and turns to her, puzzled. “Where the hell are your dishes?”

Lily turns to Harry. “Dishes?”

“I knew we forgot something when we moved in,” Harry says.

“That and beds. We just sleep on the floor.”

James stills, his hand on a cabinet, and drinks in the sight of Lily, her arm around Harry. She can read the yearning on his face and thinks, _This could have been yours_.

Harry takes pity on him. “Under the oven.”

James narrows his eyes, crouches down by the oven, and pulls open the drawer underneath with a rattle. “Dare I ask?”

Harry steps over to help him find the least chipped plates while Lily starts opening takeaway boxes. She should feel guilty over these moments, maybe, but it wasn’t her choices that put James in the position he’s in. Not entirely, at least.

When they’ve all settled in at the table, with their plates full and chopsticks in hand, James looks at Harry.

“So,” he says, “now that we’ve exhausted the topics of Quidditch, emus, the village, and girls, time for the serious stuff.”

“I thought our emu conversation was dead serious.”

“School,” James says pointedly.

Harry shrugs, fishing for a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. “Might’ve failed all my exams. Hard to say.”

“Mhmm.” James pokes Harry’s side with a chopstick. “That’s my son, all right. Failure at every aspect of his life.”

“If you’re going to do something, be the best at it.”

“Harry does wonderfully at all his subjects,” Lily says. “He’s embarrassed.”

Harry scowls. “Am not.”

“Yes, you’re such a failure that Professor Curtis wrote me a note to go on about your _natural Potions talent_.”

“You never told me you were a swot!” James pokes Harry again. “I’m massively disappointed.”

“Likely Quidditch captain _and_ he’ll probably ace his N.E.W.T.s this year.” Lily shook her head. “I swear, I’m trying to raise him to be a drop-out like me, James, but he just won’t cooperate.”

Harry lays a hand on Lily’s and regards her solemnly. “I promise I’ll try to get pregnant this year.”

She smiles. “That’s my boy.”

While James ribs Harry about his O.W.L. results from last summer, Lily lets herself pretend for a moment that they are a complete family, tucked around their kitchen table just like any other night, taking turns needling their son.

It’s a warm, familiar daydream, but one that will never happen.

Not as long as James is, well…James.

\--

She keeps expecting James to call it a night, but eventually darkness settles in around the house while they plow through a second bottle of wine, and he’s still there, leaning his chair back on two legs. Harry’s fifth yawn within an hour has her packing him off to bed, with only mild grumbling from him in response. He offers James a good-bye hug on his way out of the kitchen.

“Are you coming for my birthday?” Harry asks with feigned casualness as he pulls out of the hug.

“Yeah, ‘course. Wouldn’t miss it. It’s the first of August, right?”

Harry smiles, but it’s thin, and tight around the edges. “Right, then. Night, Mum. Night, Dad.”

He disappears into his bedroom off the kitchen, and Lily casts a muting spell over his door.

When she turns back, James has started sending empty cartons in a merry procession to the bin. Lily sets the dishes to wash in the sink, and stuffs the remaining food into the fridge. They work without speaking, but the silence is anything but icy. Just…comfortable. Two people doing what needs to be done around the house. It verges dangerously on feeling like a couple-y activity.

When they’ve finished clearing the table, and James has sent a scrubbing charm across it, they sink down into their chairs again.

“Don’t you need to leave soon, oh employed one?” Lily says.

“Kicking me out already?”

“You didn’t come here to see me.”

“Actually,” James says, ruffling up his hair with one hand, “I did.”

“What, not enough repartee in your life? Feeling starved for conversation?”

“No, no, it’s—” He swallows. “I had to talk to you about a couple of things.”

Her mouth slides into a smile. Being around him makes it so easy, like he smoothes the path for her, and the corners of her lips have nowhere to go but up.

“Like emus?” she says.

“Lily, please, I need—you know Voldemort is back.”

Her smile vanishes, a familiar ball of tension tightening in her stomach. She should’ve expected his appearance, really. He doesn’t know what she’s planning, and given what happened last time around….

“I live in the world’s tiniest village,” she says, “not under a rock. And I do have a son in Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, I meant…I just wanted to make sure you were up to speed, is all.”

“Harry wrote to me after the Leaving Feast, and we talked after he came home. I know everything he knows.”

“And I heard that you may have called upon the headmaster, too.”

“Possibly. It could have been another fabulous, young mother, too. And the portraits have a hard time telling me apart from students sometimes.”

“I heard that you broke a few things.”

A smile twitches at the edges of his mouth. She never saw him as Head Boy, but surely he did this sort of thing often during seventh year, forced into scolding while secretly amused.

“Did you hear that I fixed them?” she says. “Because that bit is also very critical to the story, I think.”

He gives into a laugh. “Merlin, Lily, only you.”

It was funny in some regards. It hadn’t been anything like entertaining at the time, fury burning through her veins as she descended on Hogwarts. She’d hurled some trinkets across Dumbledore’s office while he sat there, regarding her evenly, and asked if she cared for a cup of tea. It was a dreadfully effective technique. Eventually, anyway. First she’d shouted some more.

“There’s no way I’m the only parent who wanted to discuss his massive security breach with him. Barty Crouch was teaching Harry for _months_ , James.”

“None of the other parents,” James says, “snuck onto the grounds and camped outside of Dumbledore’s office. Literally.”

“They said he might be away for a few days. A tent seemed appropriate.”

“Did you get what you needed, at least, you madwoman?”

“Eventually. I persuaded the story out of him.” She almost wished she hadn’t, when he finished. Portkeys and graveyards and cauldrons…. The rage she’d brought into his office had been swiftly replaced by icy dread, like she’d been plunged into the lake in midwinter.

“Now _that_ I can believe.”

He’s smiling now, almost at ease, and she hates to bring it up but she can’t ask anyone else. This, above all else, has been nagging at her ever since.

“James,” she says quietly. “Did you ever suspect…only he told me about Caradoc Dearborn….”

James’s smile fades, as quickly as the tail end of a sunset, and he looks down at his lap. “Never,” he says. “Not even once, you know? I’ve been thinking about it ever since I heard, and I can’t—he and Frank were best mates.”

Neither Caradoc nor Frank had been Lily’s friends, but the tale had become common lore over the past twelve years: Death Eaters had tortured Caradoc Dearborn into revealing the Longbottoms’ hiding place, and then they’d blown him up anyway.

“Every Halloween,” Lily says, “I thought about poor Caradoc, when really…I mean, cutting off his own finger, it’s _sick_ ….”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the deafening ticking of the inaccurate clock above the fridge.

“Promise me you and Harry will be careful,” James says finally, his eyes fixed on hers.

That’s just what she needs, some man barging in to extract meaningless promises from her—

“I thought we’d put up a big _Muggle-born lives here_ sign,” she replies, “but now that you’ve said that—”

“ _Lily_ —”

“We’ll be fine, James. I’ve already warded the inn and the house, but that’s really all I can do. I mean, I thought about taking Harry out of Hogwarts—”

“You can’t take him out of _Hogwarts_ —”

“Funny,” she says icily, “I wasn’t aware it was up to you.”

She’s baiting him, she knows she is, but she can’t help it. The words don’t even hesitate on the way out, and he shows no hesitation in meeting her halfway.

He stares at her. “It’s _Hogwarts_ —”

“And Barty Crouch was there for the whole fucking _year_.”

“What are you going to do, teach him yourself?”

“ _No_ , because I’m _not_ taking him out of Hogwarts, you interrupting twit,” she says. “I only said I thought about it.”

But now he’s got going, a train on a track across iron-flat fields, and there was no stopping either of them. They’d always been tinder for each other, both for good and for bad.

“It shouldn’t have even been a _thought_ —”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my son’s education—”

“He’s my son, too.”

“Oh, go ahead and start that argument, you’re sure to win—”

“Well, he is!”

“It’s _my_ decision, and I’ve made it, and I needed towels this morning much more than I needed your opinion—”

“ _Lily_ —”

She’s on her feet within seconds. “If you’re only here to judge me for the decisions I’ve been forced to make, you could’ve said so from the start and I would’ve known to kick you out hours ago—”

“Oh, well done, got it in one,” he says, pushing off the table to stand up, his chair legs clattering backwards across tile. “That’s absolutely the reason I came here today—”

“You think you’re so bloody clever, but I’ve always seen right through you—”

“ _Naturally_ the great and wonderful Lily Evans knows why I’m here—”

“Of _course_ I do,” she says, fingers digging into the edge of the table, “and my answer is yes!”

His mouth’s already open to respond, his brow furrowed, but now he pauses. “What?”

And there it is, out in the open. Spoken. A formal statement. Most horrifically, a promise.

“Tell him I’m in.” She folds her arms across her chest. “As soon as Harry’s at King’s Cross, I’m in.”

“This—you—” James’s hands clench around air. “I’m not falling for this ‘telling me what I want to hear’ charade, or whatever this is.”

“I was going to Dumbledore in September anyway, but now you can send him my best, and some apologies for the damage I did in his office.”

He watches her for a few agonizing ticks of the clock.

Her pose holds firm, her chin lifted. He shouldn’t doubt her.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

“Oh, what, d’you think my linens man has been slipping me potions—”

“ _No_ , but the last time I asked, you were _adamant_ —”

“The last time you asked, I had a baby and no money and was in no position to go running about risking my life.”

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and she doesn’t even need him to say what’s coming next, she’s heard it so many times—

“You could’ve taken my money.”

“ _Don’t_ —”

“Well, you could have! Then you wouldn’t have had to work—”

“I didn’t need your _money_.”

The words _I needed you_ hang in her mouth, raw and unspoken.

“If you had, you could’ve helped with the Order,” he says, “you could’ve made things go more quickly—”

A disbelieving laugh escapes her. “Are you trying to guilt me over the war?”

“ _No_ , Merlin no, that’s not—I just want you to help this time—”

“And I said I would—”

“I want to join, too,” Harry says.

Lily’s head whips around to see her son standing in his bedroom doorway, wearing his Weird Sisters t-shirt, his Snitch pajama bottoms, and a mutinously stubborn look that Lily has faced in the mirror countless times.

Panic wells in her, hot and prickling.

“ _Absolutely_ not,” she says.

Harry marches up to stand in front of her. “If you get to help, why shouldn’t I? I got an O on my Defense O.W.L.—”

“That hardly qualifies you to battle Death Eaters!”

“You can’t forbid me, I’m nearly of age—”

“Dumbledore doesn’t need Hogwarts students to fight for him—”

Harry looks like he’s on the verge of stomping his foot on the ground like a horse. “I can _help_!”

Responses fly through her head, a whirlwind of whys and becauses.

“You’re too young—”

“Dad fought when he was just out of Hogwarts!” Harry looks to James. “Dad, talk to Dumbledore for me. I’m seventeen in two weeks, I can _help_ —”

Lily’s blood scorches through her veins—to turn to _James_ , of all people—single parenting is so incredibly difficult, but not having to compete with another parent for permission has always been one of the perks—

James’s eyes are wide behind his glasses. “Er.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Harry pleads.

Lily throws James a withering look. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“Erm. That is.” James coughs. “Harry, Dumbledore really doesn’t take current students on board—”

“Then I’ll drop out.”

Lily can’t breathe – this is a nightmare come true—

“Don’t even _joke_ about that,” James snaps, and Lily’s lungs fill up again. “Dumbledore wouldn’t take that as an excuse for dropping out – he’s also your headmaster, remember.”

“Then—then—” Harry’s hands are in tight fists at his sides. “Then after my N.E.W.T.s! I won’t be a student, there’ll be no reason—he can’t turn me away, he needs the help—”

James’s hand tears through his hair. “Merlin, Harry, you don’t even know—you can’t _imagine_ what you’re asking for—”

“Then _tell_ me. Don’t put up stupid spells to keep me from hearing the good stuff—”

“Oh, sweetie,” Lily says, grabbing Harry’s hand, “that was to help you sleep—”

He rips his hand out of her grasp and crosses his arms. “I’m an adult! Almost, I mean. And I want to help, and I should be allowed, and next summer you can’t stop me.”

Harry’s eyes flick back and forth between James and Lily, daring one of them to disagree.

He’s right, of course, and it’s shredding Lily’s heart into strips. They can’t stop him. And of course he wants to help and of course he’ll be as stubborn as her on this. She and James can threaten to leave the Order if Dumbledore lets Harry in, but that seems so juvenile, and there’s no guarantee it’d work—

James gives a frustrated sigh. “We’d be hypocrites otherwise, Lily.”

She whirls on him, but he’s right, too, and it’s not _fair_. James and the others fought last time so that Lily’s son wouldn’t have to, but apparently they didn’t fight hard enough, or smart enough, and it’s not fucking _fair_.

“James,” she says weakly, because she’s losing this fight and it’s awful but it’s true, and he shoots her a helpless look.

“If you’re afraid I’ll get hurt,” Harry says, “then _teach_ me.”

Lily can’t seem to tear her eyes away from James’s. They’ve clearly both given in, but can communicate in a glance that they’re petrified about where this is heading.

So this is what it’s like to have another parent around, to have someone to sympathize with her and back her up and help her deal with these awful moments in life.

She could get used to that part, but she won’t bank on another shared moment like this with James. She won’t let herself dwell on old daydreams.

She heaves a sigh and gestures the boys toward the kitchen chairs. “There _will_ be boundaries,” she says, and lowers herself into a chair. “You’re not to start _anything_ until you’ve moved out of Hogwarts fully….”

Harry sits down across from her and gives in to every single rule she sets up for him about his extracurricular studies – don’t experiment on his own, come to her with questions, always prioritize real schoolwork first – and she can barely believe this is the same person that she could hold in one hand seventeen years ago. This brave, determined boy is her doing, and hers alone.

She should feel prouder. Paralyzing terror is getting in the way, though.

Harry hasn’t needed loads of rules throughout his life. He got into his fair share of trouble, but never anything serious. Imposing boundaries like this is heavy-handed and necessary, but so foreign to her. And it’s compounded by the weirdness of _James_ being there, agreeing with her, and even suggesting a few rules of his own.

But then he goes too far and shatters the illusion of being a dutiful parent.

“Tell you what,” James says. “I’ll be by every week to tutor you.”

“James,” Lily begins, her exasperation seeping through the frayed edges of her self control.

“No, I know you—I know I don’t have the best record on, well, showing up. But I can, and I will, all right? This is…I’m not going to let you join the Order if you’re not ready,” he tells Harry. “Yeah? Even if you want to join the moment you finish your N.E.W.T.s, promise to let us tell you if you’re really ready?”

Harry sets his jaw, but then he gives a terse nod. “Only if you promise not to have stupidly high standards. If I’m as good as you were when you started….”

James sticks out his hand, looking grim. “Deal.”

Rightfully, he’s not treating this like it’s going to be special father-son bonding time. He’s treating it with the gravity it deserves, as something to be resigned to, rather than eager for.

She’s watched James go through job after job, start up and drop out of university, and even move to Germany that one time, all the while coasting by on his inheritance.

She had to grow up at sixteen. He was granted a reprieve.

The war helped him, tremendously so, but ever since Neville Longbottom bested Voldemort, James has been, in no uncertain terms, lost.

Now, as he sits in her dimly lit kitchen with smudges under his eyes and his shoulders held in a tense line…. She wonders if he hasn’t found his way.

And, of course, whether the gain is worth the loss.

\--

When the arrangements have been made, and some of Lily’s worst fears have sprouted new and awful tendrils that are already taking root, she sends Harry off to bed for real this time, and sees James to the front door.

He steps out onto the steps while she leans against the doorframe.

“Did I do all right?” he asks, turning back to face her. “With Harry?”

He’s barely lit from the corridor light, her shadow blanketing him, but the trepidation on his face is impossible to ignore.

She gave him a hard time earlier—several times, actually—but he did do well, all things considered, and he deserves to hear it. This development in her life is awful, yes. Horrifying. But at least she didn’t have to do it alone, for once.

She nods. “You were about to forbid him from dropping out. A very fatherly thing to do. Much better than Michael at work – he gave his son a condom for their sex talk.”

But James is too preoccupied to listen.

“I offered the lessons,” he says, quickly, nervously, “but d’you think he really wants them—”

“Hey, d’you remember that time you said _I think I remember the contraception spell_? Because you’re very close to replacing that as the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

James swallows, his Adam’s apple shifting the long line of his throat. “Fair enough. I’m just…he’s so young, Lily. I mean, I know they let me do it at that age, but I can’t believe they did. You don’t know anything at seventeen! And please, no jokes here that I still don’t.”

“Nah, too easy,” she says. “I can do better.”

His mouth curves into a faint smile. “You’ve raised him so well.”

If she were someone else, she would offer a half-hearted comment that he was involved, too. But he wasn’t. Harry _is_ hers, and she couldn’t be prouder of him.

That doesn’t mean she can’t offer James an olive branch, though. He’s earned it today.

“It’s not too late,” she says softly. “He’s still got lots of growing up ahead of him.”

Before she can react, James darts forward and kisses her cheek, his warm lips brushing dryly over her skin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, stepping backwards off the step.

An owl hoots nearby, no doubt peeved at their disturbance of the night silence.

Because she is apparently twelve inside, she’s blushing furiously. “Good night, James.”

He salutes her as he steps into an Apparition spin, all of his earlier nerves gone in a flash.

“Good night, Evans.”

\--

In the morning she finds Harry tucked up on the sofa in the living room, poring over her old N.E.W.T. textbooks. Panic threatens to overwhelm her for a moment—somehow she’d hoped a good night’s sleep would change Harry’s mind—but instead she takes a deep breath and asks if he has any questions.

He does, of course. He’s got a brilliant mind for the things he puts his mind to, and has always had top Defense marks. She sits down and explains whatever she can.

They have their first practice duel on Friday, but she can’t bring herself to actively try to hurt her son and keeps holding back. After ten minutes they give up, with the promise that Lily will try to become more murderous toward her son in the meantime. He promises to behave terribly to incite those emotions, and she whacks him over the head with the still-useless _Daily Prophet_.

Wednesday draws nearer. On the one hand she desperately wishes James won’t come back for the lesson because it will delay Harry’s progress, and she might keep him out of the fight a bit longer. On the other hand, her body aches with how much it wants James to show up for once. To do exactly what he should have done years ago. It’ll be great for Harry, but for her, too, to prove that she’s not attracted to the most unreliable man in the history of England. That the spark she saw in him at sixteen has grown into a steadier flame.

And all the while she finds herself anxious at odd moments, at unexpected noises, or things shifting in the corner of her eye. As easily as they’ve reappeared in her life, helplessness and fear never quite fit into her routine, always chafing, persistently reminding her that they’re there.

Her nightmares have morphed from Harry being kidnapped by Barty Crouch to Harry trying to duel Crouch, only his wand suddenly turns into a fish and Crouch hurls a vivid green light at Harry, and that’s when she wakes up.

Which is another reason she needs James to come back to Alderly Row. She’s tried to talk to Harry about the war, tried to explain to him exactly what might be coming, but of course he can’t understand. He’s grown up in a relatively peaceful environment, that possessed professor and that basilisk aside. James, on the other hand, has not only experienced what she has, but he’s an adult. Harry is still a child, still doesn’t understand that actions have consequences. James may be childish in many ways, but he _gets_ why she’s worried. He can reassure her. If she bothered to ask, anyway. But if nothing else, his presence would be, annoyingly, a comfort. He’d be a reminder that she’s not the only one properly afraid.

On Wednesday morning she wanders into the kitchen to find Harry with a nearly empty cup of coffee. The paper’s in front of him, but he’s staring off into space when she enters, and then busies himself pretending to read.

She makes him move lots of furniture around at work that day so her staff can do a deep carpet clean in some of the rooms, a nice active job to keep his mind busy. But at lunch his leg keeps jostling around, enough that he spills her coffee, and she disavows being his mother for the transgression.

When the grandfather clock in the lobby has nearly struck four, she releases Harry from his task sorting out some paperwork. He keeps looking up at the time every minute, and she’s already watched him make five mistakes in the past fifteen minutes. He immediately rushes to the lobby.

Four o’clock chimes on the clock, and she catches the way Harry’s lips press together and his head ducks down.

The door opens, flooding the room with sunlight.

“Dad!”

Harry never looks more ecstatic than when he runs for his dad, and Lily blames her son for the warmth in her chest. It’s easier to say it’s because she’s happy for her him than to admit it’s because of James’s cocky wink over Harry’s shoulder as they hug, a wink that says _told you so_.

Once is not a habit, though, she reminds herself.

“What’s this town got to offer besides Chinese for food?” James asks as he swings by the desk.

“It’s international mystery night at Alfred’s tonight,” Harry tells him. “You get a takeaway bag but have no idea what’s inside until you buy it.”

“A gamble on food? I’m in.”

She’d forgotten how slick he can be on occasion. Inviting himself to dinner like that, honestly. Still, she’s never been able to resist that smile of his, and so she agrees to meet them there later on.

For the last two hours of her shift, she occupies herself with financial work. She definitely does not spend any time imagining how beat up her son will be when she gets home, or how James’s jeans hug neatly to the curve of his arse.

As she walks through the town square later on, Harry’s voice calls out for her. Harry and James are sitting on a bench by the duck pond, bags from Alfred’s tucked by their feet, and her heart clenches at the sight of them side by side, nearly mirror images of each other.

Except for Harry’s missing eyebrow.

“Dad must hate me a lot more than you do,” Harry explains, and takes a bite of the murky brown food in his takeaway box.

“Since I only love you,” she says, “it must be true. Of course, I’d love you more if you got pregnant this year.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“I can give you some tips if you like,” James says. “I helped it happen once, didn’t I?”

He sends her a fond smile, and the evening sun’s warming her back, and they’re a _family_ right now.

The way James’s arm slides to settle around Harry’s shoulder….

Hope is such a fickle, powerful thing. She can’t get rid of it, and she wouldn’t want to, but it’s led her astray so many times before. Nothing in her life—no _one_ —has ever inspired such hope in her. Or, sadly, such disappointment.

Somehow dinner turns into dessert, and then a movie marathon with an obscene amount of sweets. Lily makes sure Harry serves as a barrier between her and James. Because he needs to feel loved, she tells herself, and not because she doesn’t trust herself.

Harry’s asleep on the couch by the time Lily sees James to the door, the credits of the latest superhero movie still rolling in the living room.

“Thanks for coming today,” she says. “It’s good for him.”

“I said I would, wouldn’t I?”

He speaks with such confidence as he stands on her steps, vaguely crooked as always. That arrogance is unwarranted, given his history, and unfairly attractive.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “You did.”

“Same time next week, yeah?”

Here his confidence wavers. If she hadn’t known him for decades, she might not have noticed, but he really is asking permission, as much as he pretends otherwise.

She almost doesn’t invite him, but she has to. She’s not heartless. It would be the highlight of Harry’s day.

“Unless,” she says, propping her shoulder against the door frame, “you’d prefer to come to his birthday party on Saturday night.”

“Oh.” A smile pops up on James’s face, almost childish in its excitement. “Absolutely. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“If you’re fishing for compliments, rethink your career as an angler.”

There’s no kiss that night, just a grin and a salute as he steps outside the reach of her wards. He likes compliments—who doesn’t—but he doesn’t need them, not tonight. He’s much too pleased with himself for the simple act of showing up.

“You added some new wards,” he says, eyeing the invisible barrier cocooning her house. “They’re strong.”

“I was getting annoyed with all the stray cats in the area. I hear they’ve all got rabies or something.”

“Yeah,” he says without humor, somehow deflated. “Watch out for those cats.”

A spin later, he’s gone. He’s off to home, and he’ll be safe there. No rabies-infested animals or Death Eaters there. Only Sirius, who certainly has his animal qualities but will definitely protect James under any circumstances.

Harry isn’t anywhere near James’s or Sirius’s level. Not yet, anyway, so James’s concern for them is acceptable today.

And, if she’s honest with herself, it’s borderline welcome.

\--

Lily’s just taking her first sip of coffee at their favorite café when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Lily!” cries Miss Trembley. “There you are, it’s been _ages_.”

She lowers herself into one of the two empty chairs at their table, the wood creaking beneath her weight.

Harry gives Lily a wide-eyed stare.

“Er, hi, Miss Trembley,” Lily says. “We did just see you yesterday. Right over there, by the pastries, in fact. You bought a cherry turnover. Inspired me to get one, actually.”

“But we haven’t _talked_ in ages.” Miss Trembley touches her grey curls to make sure they’re still tightly pinned against her scalp. “How _are_ you, my dear?”

“We’re doing well,” Lily says, a bit slowly. “Right, Harry?”

“Brilliant,” Harry says, and lifts his section of the paper in front of his face.

“Boys,” Miss Trembley sighs, and then she leans forward. “Speaking of boys, I saw you with a _man_ last night.”

Lily’s stomach sinks. “Oh, no.”

She should have foreseen this. She _knows_ better. She should’ve got in front of it, told them herself. Now it seems like she’s hiding something. If Miss Trembley is here, it’s only because she’s already gossiped madly about it on the corner with the town biddies.

She should have made James Floo home, despite his irrational fear of choking on ash.

“Oh, _yes_.” Miss Trembley’s thin mouth curves into a sly smile. “There was no mistaking him for anything but a big, strong man.” The way the last three words slither out of her mouth borders on indecent.

“No, I mean, you’ve got the wrong idea. Also, big? He’s a bit scrawny, I think.”

“It’s just my dad,” Harry says from behind the paper.

Lily nods vigorously. “Nothing to get excited about. Nothing whatsoever, no need to tell anyone in the town that he was here.”

Miss Trembley sends Lily a knowing look. “He was here last week, too. Eliza told me she saw him near Patrick’s emu farm with Harry.”

“His first visit,” Lily says. “He’d never been here before, had to make sure he saw the sights.”

“And back for a second visit so soon, hm?”

“He’s tutoring me in physics,” Harry says.

Lily reaches out and slides the paper out of his hands, revealing Harry’s peeved face.

“You could’ve given me a papercut,” he says.

“I’m working on hating you, and you’re doing an excellent job of inciting it,” she whispers, and then turns back to Miss Trembley. “It’s Harry’s last year of school, and James is a bit of a physics prodigy, so you’ll see him around for the next month or so.”

“And at my birthday party,” Harry puts in, with an evil glint in his eye.

Miss Trembley nods. “So it’s not _all_ business.”

“No, not really,” Harry continues in earnest. “He stayed over for a couple of movies last night. And then I fell asleep, so I’ve no idea what happened after midnight.”

Lily makes a note to offer a dueling lesson the minute they step into the inn. She could manage a variety of dangerous spells right now.

“I sent James home,” she says with a practiced grin. “And invited him to Harry’s birthday party. Out of pity, nothing more. He’s a sad, lonely man with absolutely no friends or life to speak of.”

Miss Trembley considers this for a moment. “So you’re saying what he needs is a vivacious, young, entertaining woman.”

“Er—no. I mean.” Lily shoots a glance down at her empty wrist. “Look at the time, we’re late for work!”

“Mum’s just nervous about it,” Harry tells Miss Trembley. “Dad hasn’t been around much, you know, but I really feel like he’s turned over a new leaf.”

Harry’s hamming it up, but Lily’s heart pangs because he so clearly actually means that. And more worrisome, she’s starting to agree with him.

“Well, when a man reaches a certain age,” Miss Trembley says. “D’you know, my second husband Richard left me at the altar when I was seventeen – he was supposed to be my first husband, of course, but he missed out on _that_ opportunity….”

Lily sends Harry a smile worthy of Jack Nicholson, Shining-era, but Harry just grins back at her.

If only she hadn’t raised him to be so much like herself.

She sighs and settles in. She’s heard this story before, and at Miss Trembley’s pace, Lily will need at least two more cups of coffee before it’s through. Then she’ll need a third cup to get through the townspeople gossiping about her life.

If only she weren’t about to go to work. Some rum would be welcome right about now….

\--

Even though Lily knows she’s going to hear about James endlessly from the villagers, each pointed comment and question ratchets her blood pressure up.

It’s the pizza man that makes Lily snap on Friday night.

“No, we are _not_ rekindling our love,” she tells Eddie. “And I really would prefer if we could limit our topic of conversation to the world-record-breaking pizza you’re going to make me for Harry’s party.”

“Well, it’s really just the biggest ever in the village.”

“Not even the county?”

“’fraid not. Sorry. Our oven can’t hold a pizza that big.”

Lily sighs, tapping a polished fingernail on his greasy counter. “Well, do what you can, and we’ll lie about the record. He’s never going to look it up anyway. Now, if it were a _Quidditch_ statistic—”

“Quidditch?”

“Oh, ah, you know, slang for football at Harry’s school. No idea where they come up with these things, of course….”

She holds it together long enough to get the decorations up in her garden, tuck their spellbooks away, and set up the stereo outside. When the last cord has been cursed and tugged into submission, she sits back on her heels and smiles. Harry will be back from work in twenty minutes, by which time all the guests will have started arriving.

The doorbell chimes inside the house, dim but audible through the open kitchen door.

“That better be you, Eddie!” she calls as she stands up. “And that pizza better be big enough that I could use it as a sleeping bag!”

As she hurries along the side of the house, James steps around from the front.

“Hi,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m early.”

He’s dressed appropriately, in jeans—dangerously distracting jeans, thank Merlin for Hogwarts robes, she’d never have passed her classes with James’s arse exposed like that—and a button-down. She’s always fancied button-down shirts. They’re classy, and such fun to undo.

Unfortunately he’s accessorized his outfit with bags under his eyes, as clear as if they’d been penciled on.

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” She stops in front of him and forces a smile. “I was just finishing up everything back here – regretting my decision to move to a half-Muggle village right about now, actually.”

“Right, no magic.”

“Right. And, erm. We’ve told everyone you’re tutoring Harry in physics.”

“Ah. Okay,” he says, his brow furrowed. “Why’s that?”

“Because I needed a reason for you to be around town without everyone getting the wrong idea.” She glances down at the flower beds alongside the house and absently picks off a few browned petals. “So if you could just make up a bunch of physics-y sounding words and bore everyone until they shut up about it, that would be utterly brilliant.”

“What wrong idea would they get? That a man wants to see his son?” His lean becomes more pronounced as he shifts his weight to one leg, folding his arms. “Peculiar, that. Definitely needs an explanation.”

“No, no, they—you and I, since I’m not seeing anyone at the moment….”

“ _Oh_.” James nods. “Yeah, ‘course. Because we’re not….”

“Exactly.”

“But they think we are.”

“Right.”

His eyes slide sideways, gazing through the window. “So if I were to tell them that I wanted to take you inside to the kitchen and fuck you on the table, that would be a bad idea?”

Lily’s brain shuts down for a moment, flooded with a vivid, exceptionally appealing and very complete image.

She shoves it aside. Reluctantly. Or rather, files it away for later usage.

“Yes,” she says, “tell them exactly that, that’ll definitely make you popular around town. They’re all about modern sensibility out here.”

He tucks his hands in his pockets and beams at her. “Relax, I’ll only tell them about the time on my balcony.”

“Perfect. Now go Conjure some more ice before the Muggles arrive.”

“Can I put my newly Conjured ice bucket on the kitchen table?” he asks, with such innocence.

“Since there’ll be no fucking on it, absolutely.” She waves back to the garden. “I’ve got to go do….”

“Yeah, right. I’ll be inside. Dreaming up things to tell your nosy villagers.”

She heads back to the party area, even though she’s got nothing else to do, and sorts through her tape collection. Tapes are such curious things, all hard plastic and winding tape. She had to borrow some from Millie and Robert next door since she usually relies on the wizarding wireless.

Within minutes, Millie’s hollering a hello, with Robert quietly trailing behind her short strides. Then comes Alfred with a special plate of pancakes just for Harry, followed by Eliza with one of her bakery’s cakes, and a gaggle of Harry’s village mates. Eddie arrives just in time with his entire staff holding a six-foot-wide wooden platform with a steaming pizza on top.

Her back garden is filled with chattering people and blasting music as Harry finally comes around the corner of the house.

Lily has barely slept all week, and her back and knees ache from crawling around, and she’s had eight cups of coffee today, but it’s all worth it to see his face alight with happiness.

He runs up to her, trainers hurrying over the grass, and she finally gets a public hug of her own.

“This is _fantastic_ ,” he says, pulling her up into the air a few inches. It feels a little unnatural that her own son can manage that.

“Happy birthday, my sweet boy,” she murmurs into his ear.

The hug is brief, of course, but it’s there.

The funny thing about her throwing this party is that she sees so little of him during it. He’s too occupied getting drawn aside by village residents, who pester him about what he’ll do after exams. Whenever Harry mentions that he’s thinking of joining the military, Lily has to remind herself to stay calm.

While he’s interrogated, Lily runs around making sure the birds don’t get at the pizza and the drinks stay cold. Then she switches the music to Queen’s greatest hits, and allows herself a moment of peace to survey her party.

Across the garden, Miss Trembley has cornered Harry by the hedge. She plants a large, wet kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a vivid lipstick print that he tries to rub off with the back of his hand.

Lily smiles to herself. Her friends were all baffled when Lily moved to such a remote place, but Lily’s never once regretted it. No other town would’ve provided such an overflowing table of gifts for a seventeen-year-old boy.

Things take a turn for the better when Miss Trembley spots James coming out of the house. She makes a beeline for him, and before James can even react, she’s got her arm linked through his and is guiding him over to the punch bowl.

James sends Lily a pleading look, but she just waves merrily and goes to chat with Harry’s mates about the latest football match.

If James really wants in, then dealing with the villagers is part of the deal. It’s an initiation, really.

James ends up with a lipstick print on his cheek within minutes.

Lily laughs to herself.

She’s doing him a favor, getting this out of the way now, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy it, too.

\--

As the evening sun starts to fade, Lily switches on the fairy lights she’s strung on poles around the garden, setting the partygoers aglow in a gentle golden haze. The breeze has died down, leaving it a gorgeous, still summer night. She ducks into the house to grab a light cardigan, and when she comes back out, Harry’s about to open presents.

He gets all manner of Muggle goods – novels, football posters, music tapes – because Lily’s taken the gifts from magical folk and stored them in the house for later. Except for hers, of course.

He saves it for last, and makes a pointed comment about the paltry size of the box.

But then he lifts the lid to find a handsome gold pocketwatch lying atop tickets to the Weird Sisters, and she watches excitement bloom on his face.

“Wicked!” he says, searching for her eyes in the crowd. He finds hers and beams. “Thank you, Mum.”

There are so many thank-yous in her day-to-day life—she’s raised a polite boy, who says thank you when someone even passes the milk—but she recognizes a heartfelt one when it’s paraded out in front of her.

The watch is new. A downside of being Muggleborn: no magical heirlooms to impart. But instead they’ll build a legacy together, starting with just the two of them, making a name for all future Evanses. They’ll have a whole fucking dynasty because damn it Harry will live through the war and give Lily scads of grandchildren—

The words _if it kills her_ automatically slip into place after that, but she’s not letting the war take either of them.

“And one more,” James says, sliding in between Millie and Eliza with an envelope in hand.

Harry, like his father often does, tries to play it cool as he holds up the envelope. His true insides, though, that of young boy on the cusp of manhood, come out when he heartily rips the envelope open.

“MERLIN’S PANTS!”

He’s on his feet before Lily can blink, knocking over the stack of tapes at his side. The envelope flutters to the ground as he leaps forward to embrace his dad. The Muggles in the crowd share confused looks with each other, but Lily’s not too worried. Not about that, anyway.

Few things—few _legal_ things, that is—could inspire that sort of reaction in Harry.

She steps forward and picks up the crisp, white envelope.

European Cup tickets. Of course. Never mind that the game is in three days and in Belgium. James has money and connections.

She plasters a smile on her face and disappears into the darkening kitchen, where she rests both hands on her never-used stove, hanging her head.

She’s being ridiculous. She could never afford European Cup tickets, much less tickets combined with a trip to Belgium.

It’s wonderful that James wants to do that with Harry, that he can afford to pay for everything and take time off his quasi-job to fulfill Harry’s dreams.

It really, really is.

If she tells herself that enough, she might convince herself.

After a few minutes, she hears the door to the garden swing open.

“Hey,” James says softly. “You all right in here?”

She straightens up. “Yeah, just tired, is all.”

“I know I should’ve talked to you about the tickets beforehand, but I got distracted by the physics stuff, and—”

“It’s fine, James. You two will have a fantastic time.”

He takes a few steps toward her, frowning. “You seemed upset.”

She turns away from him, her muscles tense. “Well, I’m not.”

He’s never fails to surprise her. And not always in a good way. He’s nothing but disruptive, really. The townspeople bothering her, Harry’s conception…and if not for James, Harry would have never heard about the Order rebooting.

But that’s unfair and she knows it. Harry would have learned eventually, and she wasn’t exactly blameless in creating Harry.

“You know,” James says, “you’re a shit liar when you’re exhausted.”

“James—”

“No, look, it’s not—are you mad that I didn’t ask? I’m sorry, I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal for him to get off work—”

She waves vaguely. “It’s not about work, he can go, it’s fine—”

“Then why are you upset?” He steps closer, within arm’s reach. “Because you think I’m stealing him away from you, or—”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“I know you’re upset, just _talk_ to me, okay?” He inches forward. That’s never been a boundary he’s worried about, getting too close to her. “I’m an adult. I can handle it.”

The last hurrah of the day’s sun filters through the kitchen window.

“If you don’t tell me,” James says, cocking his head, “I’ll go tell Miss Trembley that I think it’s about time I settled down and bought a ring.”

There’s no question that he would follow through on that threat. And besides, if he really is here for her, and not just for him….

“It’s our last summer together.” Lily strides over to look out the window, placing her hands on the edge of the sink, in one of the few spots not occupied by dishes. “He’ll probably want to move out next summer, and be an adult, and now we know what he wants to do, at least, but it’s—it’s never going to be like this again.”

The confession is oddly exhausting. Or maybe it’s just this on top of the party and work and Harry and war.

Single parenting has never gotten the respect it deserves.

James’s footsteps draw nearer, until she can nearly feel him right behind her.

“And I’m cutting into that time,” he says, trying it out.

She gives a terse nod. “Those games can go on for days—”

“If it goes more than a couple of days, I’ll bring him home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to go to the whole thing or not at all.”

“It probably won’t last that long anyway.”

“I know,” she sighs.

The sun is painting a masterpiece on the horizon, and she’s so, so tired.

So tired that she lets her weight tip backwards slightly, until her back meets James’s chest. His hand comes around her side to splay over her stomach, the pads of his fingers warm and familiar through her blouse.

“You’ve had his whole childhood with him,” he says quietly. “I just—I wanted a piece of it for myself before it’s over. I missed it, you know? And I know that’s entirely my fault, but I missed it. And I’m sorry, you know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for him. Or for you.”

His words drop down onto her like rain, settling in cracks left by years of parenting alone. It’s nothing like mending them, but the fractures seem more surmountable now. She can feel the stable rise and fall of his chest behind her, and turns her cheek to rest against his t-shirt.

When he presses a kiss against her hair, her heart threatens to burst.

He lifts her hair aside and bends down to place a line of slow, dry kisses up her neck, ending just below her ear. She closes her eyes and makes a small, content noise.

She’s been with other men since Harry was born. She’s only human, after all. She has needs.

But only James has ever been this intimate with her. The other men in her life never inspired this relaxed drowsiness in her, the kind that invites her to unwind, to let someone else drive while she thinks of nothing at all.

An excited shriek from the garden pulls her out of her reverie, like a rowboat slowly drifting onto shore. When she lands back in the firm grasp of reality, she steps sideways out of James’s grasp.

“James,” she begins, turning back to face him.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at his feet. “Don’t,” he says, his voice low and pained. “Please don’t.”

“We can’t.”

The words are pulled out against their will, scratching her throat on the way.

“I don’t see why not.”

“I’m not going to toy with Harry that way, pretend that you and I—”

“What’s to pretend?” he asks, looking back at her, looking…vulnerable. “I care about you, you care about me—”

“There’s so much going on—this is so new—”

Something visibly shatters in him.

“You think I’m going to disappear again.”

She hugs her chest and looks to the side. “Not without reason.”

“Lily, things are…. When I heard that Voldemort was back—all I could think of was you two. I know what I want now, all right? I’m _ready_.”

It strains her heart to hear that—finally the words escape him, _finally_ , but—

“Words are just that,” she says.

Neither speaks for a while. A few drops of water slide off a tilted plate in the sink, landing with hollow _plunks_ on the metal.

Finally, James says, “I don’t know how to prove to you how serious I am about this, but I am.”

She studies the way he leans his hip against the edge of the sink, and the last stretches of sunlight catching on his glasses.

There’s nothing like wrinkles on his still young face, but the planes of his face have straightened out, the edges sharpened deftly, masterfully by time.

This is decidedly not the sixteen-year-old boy who sauntered around the corridors of Hogwarts. Who nearly passed out when Lily told him she was pregnant. Who raged when Lily wouldn’t join the Order last time. Who came to her one night in September 1981, ashen and rambling about how awful things were getting.

She’d kissed him that night. The first of many times, actually. But whatever physical relationship they’ve had over the years, they’ve never discussed getting together. Not until now.

His face is so earnest, so serious. She hasn’t seen him look this way since the war. It seems so out of place on his long, narrow face, which is usually never more than a second away from a smile.

More than anything, his longing shows. He does want what she has, and she can’t fault him because what she has is amazing. The only reason he’s been cut out of it before was that, regardless of what he’d said, he _wasn’t_ ready.

But he’s never insisted before. He only said it the once, the night he proposed, and he’d said it so frantically then, so desperate for a clear path forward.

He’s never wanted all in before.

And _Merlin_ how she wants him in.

“Show up every week for his lesson,” she says. “And we can talk again in September.”

He gives a slow nod. “I can live with that.”

She swallows. “All right, then.”

“Right,” he says.

He crosses the gap between them in one step, reaches his hands up to slide alongside her face, and kisses her soundly. He tastes like her punch, and he’s _here_ , and he’s _in_ , and _fuck—_

A low, wanting noise escapes her, and she leans her body forward to press against his, searching for friction, for purchase, for _anything—_

He pulls back as quickly as he started, leaving her a bit breathless, her blood thrumming through her veins.

“Thought I’d help wake you up,” he says with a wink.

“Fuck off,” she says, and stretches up to try to kiss him.

He steps back, hands held up.

“Nooo.” He grins. “We’re not together, remember?”

The bastard. The utter _bastard_. She can’t go back to the party like this, her skin radiating heat, no doubt trying out a poor imitation of her hair color.

“You’re officially uninvited from this party,” she says.

“Don’t want Miss Trembley getting the wrong idea, remember?”

There’s the James she recognizes, thrilled and teasing, elated and cocky as all fuck. God, but he’s fit in every fucking way, and he knows it, and that maddeningly only makes him fitter.

She glares at him. “I’m taking you off the record as Harry’s father.”

He steps around the kitchen table toward the door. “We can talk again in September,” he says airily.

“If I haven’t murdered you by then,” she calls, as he disappears out into the garden.

The door slams shut behind him, leaving her alone in the kitchen once more. She sighs, leaning back against the worktop.

She might have just made a terrible mistake.

She absolutely can’t tell Harry about any of this.

But maybe….

She permits herself a small smile, her heart aching with yearning. Maybe it’s finally time.

\--

James proceeds to systematically talk to every villager he can find and charm the hell out of them. More than a handful of guests come up to Lily to tell her what a wonderful, entertaining father Harry has, and Lily has to nod and find new iterations of, “Yes, it’s so great that he wants to be in Harry’s life again,” and “No, we’re not back together.”

Eventually partygoers start to wander home, all thanking her for a marvelous night, until it’s only her, Harry, and James left. James tries to insist on helping her clean-up, but she’s no energy to tackle that project now. She sends him off, ensures Harry reaches his bed, and then collapses onto the sofa in the living room, too intimated by the stairs up to her room.

When she wakes bleary-eyed in the morning, it’s gone half eleven. Harry’s in the kitchen with the paper and coffee, and offers her some.

Once she’s had her first sip, she realizes the state of the kitchen: dishes all put away, worktops tidy, the sink sparkling. There’s even a vase of fresh flowers on the table.

“ _Harry_ ,” she says, “you know you’re forbidden to clean up after your own party.”

“I didn’t,” he says smugly. “Dad came by this morning and took care of everything.”

Lily narrows her eyes, and then goes to peek out the back door.

All the decorations are down, the tables have disappeared, and her stereo is tucked neatly by the house, as if nothing had ever happened.

“He left you a note,” Harry says, sliding a sealed envelope across the table toward her.

She can’t fight back a smile as she slits it open.

_Oi, Evans,_

_It’s like cooking and doing the dishes, right? Splitting duties and all. Isn’t that what couples do?_

_Keep that kitchen table tidy. I really would like to fuck you on it one day._

_Potter_

By the end her smile is a bit manic because she’s trying to very hard not to blush in front of Harry.

James may have been lost these past seventeen years, but when he knows what he wants, he’s as dogged as Sirius’s Animagus form. And fuck but this is hot, his letter and his pursuit and, of course, his newfound responsibility.

“You didn’t read it, did you?” she asks casually.

He looks at the letter, and then at her. “It was sealed, wasn’t it?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Harry’s mouth tilts into a crooked smile, a deadringer for his father at that age. Fucking teenagers and their minds. Or maybe it’s just Harry, who knows her all too well.

“Why,” he says, “is it dirty?”

“ _No_.” Lily tucks the note into her jeans pocket and grabs her coffee. “You’re dirty for thinking it’s dirty, though.”

“Mhmm,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows.

Lily shushes him and goes to shower.

A shower where, of course, she gets to unfile that image she tucked away yesterday.

\--

Harry spends the days leading up to the European Cup on a Quidditch-induced high, smiling all the time and offering to tidy up the house or to go get takeaway. Of course, some of it might be that he finally gets to use magic legally, instead of Lily taking the blame for any Ministry notices. (Certain incidents, like one involving a flaming coconut, she refused to take credit for.)

His giddiness is worth the mess she has to deal with from the villagers. Even people who weren’t at the party come up to ask her about James. She’d hate James for it if she weren’t so fond of him herself. It’s hard not to be charmed by him when he wants you to be. And, usually, even when he doesn’t want you to be.

James shows up right on time to whisk Harry off to Belgium. Lily pecks Harry on the cheek and reminds him not to eat too many sweets. He promises to get roaring drunk instead and to try to get pregnant.

Such a sweet boy she’s raised.

Lily thanks James for cleaning up after the party—she practiced the line so it wouldn’t sound strangled and sultry. James’s hand rests on the kitchen table as she says it, his fingertips curling ever so slightly, and Lily loses her train of thought.

Thankfully the boys have to head out before James can give her new sources of distraction.

She should be used to having the house to herself these days, but it’s _summer_. Harry has always been home for summer. There at work to help keep her entertained, and at meals to keep her company, and otherwise never away from her for more than a few hours. But he’s gone and the sun is up for hours and it’s not what she wanted.

Millie and Robert invite her over for dinner that night, the sweethearts, and Lily goes and endures their endless chatter about their new cat. Lily considers strangling said cat before dessert, if only to get them to shut up about its bowel movements.

Afterward dinner she returns to a dark, lonely house to watch Die Hard alone in the dark. It’s a bit pathetic, really. She promises the next night—provided the boys are still gone—she’s going to go out to the pub with some mates from work, and not sit alone pining for her teenage son and her ex.

There’s no need, though. When she gets home from work the next day, Harry and James are on the sofa cackling over something or other.

“The match only lasted two hours,” Harry laments when Lily sits down with them.

“Would you rather have stayed on that muddy field for five days?” James asks.

“ _Yes_.”

James grins. “That’s my boy.”

At a different point in her life, Lily might have objected to him saying that. But no matter how hard she’s tried to pretend otherwise, there is so much of James in Harry.

And that’s not entirely a bad thing.

“We already had our defense lesson before you got home,” Harry says. “And I invited Dad to the movie in the town square on Saturday.”

James nods. “I said I’ve never seen Casablanca, and Harry nearly left me alone at the Cup for it.”

It’s not _bad_ that James wants to be around. She doesn’t mind, truly. But Harry inviting him…. It’s not good for him to get so invested in this. She can take some teasing from Harry, but moves like this just show how desperately he wants this to happen.

And that’s more risk from him than she’s willing to take.

Still, she can’t very well uninvite James.

“It’s an actual sin to have never seen Casablanca,” Lily says. “The villagers will be over the moon that you’re there. Miss Trembley takes tickets, you know.”

“Oh. Right.” James’s smile tightens. “How lovely it will be to see her again.”

Lily relishes watching him turn a bit green. “She’s done _nothing_ but talk about you since the party, you know.”

“Lovely,” James chokes out, no doubt recalling the pungent perfume Miss Trembley favors.

It’s fun to give James shit, but she really does have dual purposes here. If James wants to be around them, the villagers are part and parcel of that. It’s about time he got to know them.

Although if things go south between her and James, the villagers will crucify him if he shows up again. They’re sweet and loyal that way. They take care of their own. Of course, if she and James get together and then break up, she’ll never hear the end of it either.

That’s the risk, though. And with so much else at risk, the villagers’ gossip hardly seems worth fretting over.

\--

Harry’s new defense curriculum has fit into their schedule in a scarily neat way. In the mornings she wakes to find him with his head in a book, and after work she answers questions and helps him master new spells. Based on the changes she’s noticed in his stance and wrist work, It appears that even a couple lessons from James have helped a lot.

She’s no slouch at Defense—even ended up getting an O in it when she finally took her N.E.W.T.s several years ago—but James does have some practical experience that she lacks, and she’s not too proud to admit it.

It’s still painful to teach Harry all this, knowing what he wants to do with it. At least it’s a good refresher for her, too.

She refuses to think about the commitment she’s made to Dumbledore. She’ll follow through on it, but she’s worried enough about her son, and doesn’t need more anxiety on top of it.

Saturday night rolls around, and James shows up with an enormous bag of takeaway from near his house. They stroll into town together, Lily with her arm linked through Harry’s. Miss Trembley makes some very un-veiled remarks to James when she takes their tickets. Once they’re out of earshot, Lily laughs and laughs while James goes beet red and says he feels like he needs a shower.

The night starts off well enough, but Harry is entirely too invested in trying to get his parents together. Lily has him sit between his parents again, but then he goes to get popcorn for them, and when he comes back he sits down on the far side of James.

James, totally willing to play into his son’s games, dutifully slides closer to Lily to make room. Within seconds, Lily can hear whispers spreading around the crowd. Subtlety has never been the villagers’ forte.

She refuses to lean into James or do anything visible as long as everyone else can see them, and James isn’t stupid enough to try anything in public.

After the movie, they take their time getting home with such full stomachs. James never quite passes the threshold, lingering on the doorstep. Harry heads straight past him toward the sofa, while Lily stays to see James off.

Hands in his pockets, James watches his son topple himself over backwards onto the cushions, a smile drifting onto his face.

“Thanks for a lovely evening,” he says, eyes on Lily now. “You certainly know how to show a bloke a good time.”

“You should see what you’d have got if you’d paid extra.”

He watches her for a moment, head cocked, by all appearances soaking her in. Then he reaches out to pick up her hand and hold it, her palm resting on top of his, where he studies it.

“I’m glad you didn’t accept my proposal at seventeen,” he says, still transfixed by her hand. “I used a completely wrong ring for you.”

It had been gold and ornate, with an ostentatious emerald. A Potter heirloom. Beautiful, sure, but definitely not her style.

Her throat tightens as he runs his thumb over her ring finger. “I didn’t say no because of the ring.”

“You said no because I was an idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to marry someone whose mum made him ask.”

“Like I said, idiot.” He turns her hand sideways, and then back the other way. “The next time I ask, I’ll do it properly, and you’ll say yes.”

Her heart quivers inside the cavern of her chest, like leaves in a breeze. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t ask first?”

A slow smile tugs at his lips as he stares at her, her hand still held aloft in his, almost revering. “You’ve always been better at knowing what you want. Maybe it’ll be a tie this time, though.”

“Awfully forward of you, Mr. Potter.”

He lifts her hand to brush his lips over her skin, and then looks up, wearing an impish grin that seems tailor made for him.

“I bid thee good night, Lady Evans.”

Her hand is hers once more, and he steps back, hands reclaiming their position in his pockets.

“Say goodnight to Harry for me,” he says.

“I will.”

A few steps and a spin later, and he disappears.

She returns inside to find Harry stretched out on the sofa, moaning about his stomach.

“I’m never eating again,” he says.

She shoves his legs aside and settles in on the other end of the sofa. “We always say that, and yet somehow it’s a completely ineffective technique to this whole _staying alive_ business.”

“The Bee Gees had it wrong.” Harry groans. “I’m against staying alive right now.”

She reaches out and rubs his knee. “Sweetie. We need to have a chat.”

Harry opens his eyes, mirror images of hers, and looks at her, head tilted.

She gives him a soft smile. “Harry, dear, I know you would love it if your dad and I got together.”

Harry stills, and looks away, eyes downcast.

Her poor son. He couldn’t have thought he was being subtle.

“But you can’t push it along, all right?” she says. “I’m not saying it will never happen—I’m no Seer—but I don’t want any pressure from you. If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen on its own time.”

“You pressured me to ask out Alicia,” he mutters.

“You and Alicia don’t have a history going back decades. Also, much to my dismay, you don’t have a child to worry about yet.”

Harry sits up on the sofa and crosses his arms. “I’m an adult now.”

No seventeen-year-old understands the difference between coming of age and Being an Adult. Seventeen-year-olds think they are done, packaged, and ready to be taken off the assembly line.

“You’re always going to be my son,” she says, “and I will always put your needs ahead of mine.”

He ducks his head and says in a low voice, “What if I need my dad?”

Harry may think he’s A Real Adult, but there’s so much child within his lanky frame, hidden away by the adult-size container he’s grown into.

“You can have him in your life all you like,” she says, “but if I think me getting involved romantically with James is going to hurt you, then I won’t do it.”

“It won’t.”

She scooches over on the sofa to sit next to him. There’s a distinct scent to Harry, one nearly identical to James, but not quite, a permutation on the original.

“It will if we break up,” she says.

“Then don’t break up.”

“Harry.” She threads a hand through his hair. “Don’t push me. Please.”

He draws his shoulders back to look at her in another classic James pose, straight-backed and confident. “Why didn’t Dad leave Hogwarts when you did?”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s a complicated question.” She gave him answers to these questions when he was little, but they were answers for a child. _Dad is a very busy man. Mummy wanted you all to herself._ “That’s really a question for him. But it wasn’t because he doesn’t love you.”

“What do you think, though?”

He’s not nagging, which makes it hard to deflect the question. He wants a straight answer, but Lily has many responses, some more flattering than others.

“I think he was seventeen, sweetie. I think he was scared and confused. I know I was.” She absently ruffles the hairs at the base of his neck, soft against her palm. “It was a different time. We had classmates dying over hols, and duels in the corridors, and the slurs….”

Harry considers this, eyes unfocused as he stares off at nothing, his mouth grim. His experience at Hogwarts has in many ways beaten hers out for awful events, and if what she suspects is true, will soon surpass hers for the day-to-day awful, too.

His attention reverts to her after a few moments, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. “You were scared and confused, too,”

“I can’t answer this for you, dear. You’ll have to talk to him about it.” At Harry’s disappointed look, she wraps an arm around his shoulder and adds, “I don’t know if he regrets his choice to leave Hogwarts, but I know he regrets not being there for you.”

He leans into her embrace, his head resting against hers. As much of a pain as parenting can be, moments like these obliterate any negative experiences, just the warm, loving presence of her kid.

Harry says, “I’m happy he’s around now, though.”

“Yeah,” she says, giving him a squeeze. “Me too.”

\--

August just keeps on coming. Lily would really prefer it to slow down and take its time, stroll instead of spring. But there’s work and town events and, of course, Harry’s studies to take into account.

Harry’s Hogwarts letter arrives on Tuesday morning via a tawny owl that gives a disgruntled hoot when it learns they’re out of treats. (Harry, of course, has been dying to own an owl since he was a boy, but they could never think of a way to explain it to the Muggle villagers. Instead they rely on the hotel owls for personal correspondence.)

“Open it, open it!” Lily shouts, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’s well practiced at this and can do it without spilling a drop of coffee.

“I was thinking I might toss it in the fire, but opening it’s fine, too.”

Despite the fine tremor in his fingers, Harry performs an elegant slicing jinx along the edge of the envelope and tips it upside down.

A shiny gold badge drops toward the table. Harry, master Seeker that he is, snatches it out of the air before it lands, and holds it up toward her.

“Captain!” he cries.

Lily spares a moment to set down her precious coffee before throwing her arms around him. “Of course you are!”

His chest thuds under his ribs while his hands clutch at her shoulders.

It only lasts a moment, though, before he steps back.

“I’ve got to go Floo Dad.”

She tells herself she’s not at all peeved about this and primly picks up the booklist in one hand, and her coffee with the other. “Right. ‘Course. And then we’ll go celebrate with breakfast at Lucas’s.”

“We always eat breakfast there.”

“Yeah, but today it’ll be special. Obviously.” She waves the booklist toward the living room. “Go! I’m starving. Look at me, wasting away in front of your eyes, shedding pound after pound until I disappear into nothingness….”

Harry dashes off, his socks sliding over the floors, and she scans over the parchment. Only a few new books to buy this year, thankfully, although she pauses when she reads which book they’ve chosen for Defense.

“Odd,” she mutters to herself, and sets the list down on the table, giving it a strange look, as if it will respond instantly and explain itself.

She runs upstairs to get dressed, and by the time she comes back down, Harry’s waiting for her on the front steps.

“They’ve switched Defense books,” she says as she locks the door behind them.

“Oh. But I liked what I’ve read of yours.”

“I liked it, too.” She hops down the step and they head toward Lucas’s. “And worse, they’ve assigned you Slinkhard.”

“Isn’t that the bloke your book keeps referencing as being completely wrong?”

“That’s the one.”

They share a frown. It’s welcome in the sense in that she has a sharp boy, and they can discuss books together. But he shouldn’t have to be this concerned about picking up the Defense curriculum. He should be a normal student, groaning about the upcoming term.

“You can take mine to Hogwarts, too,” Lily says. “I’ll get another copy if I need it. Diagon on Saturday?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, the lines in his forehead smoothing out. “Can Dad come?”

“Harry—”

“I know, it’s not because, erm. I just thought he might want to do it for once. Since he never got to before, and it’s his last chance….”

“He’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.” She runs her shoulder into his. “Very thoughtful of you to ask.”

Harry smiles, and she can see him fingering his badge in his hoodie pocket. He probably thinks she doesn’t know he brought it along, but she can’t fault him. That bloody Tournament cost Harry a year of captaincy and, obviously much worse, cost a student his life. She doubts she’ll ever forgive Dumbledore for starting it up again, and she will definitely never forgive him for letting a thirteen-year-old participate in the first place.

Those are thoughts for another time, though.

Because she loves her son, and because Harry won’t shut up about it until plans are finalized, she sticks her head in the fireplace over her lunch break and calls out for James’s house.

She finds Sirius in their kitchen, popping the top off a beer and standing in front of the same faded paint that existed when Lily was pregnant.

“Oh. Er. Hi,” she says. “Is James around?”

Sirius flicks the cap over his shoulder. It arcs high in the kitchen until it lands on the rubbish bin near the sink.

He’s looking down at her, and not just because he’s standing.

“James is out.”

She’s never figured out if Sirius is annoyed with her for getting pregnant with James’s child, or not marrying James, or maybe just existing. In any case, he’s just as happy to see her as ever.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” she asks.

“Later.”

Lily refrains from snapping at him only because Harry might overhear.

“Right. Well. Will you ask him if he would like to come to Diagon with me and Harry on Saturday? Harry wanted me to ask.”

Sirius takes a swig of his beer. “He can’t. He’s busy.”

“Sirius—”

Sirius’s stony face relents into something softer. “No, it’s not—he’s got a _commitment_.”

“ _Oh_. Right. We’ll go without him, then.”

Now she can worry about James on Saturday, too. Lovely.

Sirius’s lips pull to the side, and then release. “He’ll be glad you asked, though.”

“Yeah,” she says, mind spinning around what awful, dangerous tasks James could be assigned to. “Thanks for passing on the message.”

“He’d hex me if I didn’t.”

Lily’s mouth slips into a smile. “Yes, that’s very true. So you’d better. Because if you don’t, I will also hex you. Then you’ll be doubly hexed, which is twice as bad as singly hexed. Or possibly more, depending on the hexes.”

Sirius’s expression goes blank, his bottle poised halfway to his lips. “You really want him to know that badly?”

“Oh, erm, yes, I—Harry asked. I wanted James to know. Thought he’d be pleased, and it sounds like he will be, so….”

Sirius searches her face for—well, something. Then he swallows, his hand dropping to his side. “Yeah, well, I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Great,” Lily says. “Bye, then.”

She pulls out of the flames quickly before their weird conversation can continue.

Then she has the very fun task of pulling her son into the back office to explain that no, his dad can’t come. At least Harry’s shuttered look has a good reason this time: James really is going out to do Very Important Things.

“He’ll be really glad you asked,” she says, rubbing Harry’s arm.

Harry gives a short nod. “Well, just tradition then. Which means Fortescue’s for lunch?”

“All you can eat.”

“But only once we’ve done all our shopping.”

“Merlin, yes,” she says, guiding him back out to the lobby. “We’ll only make that mistake once.”

\--

Another Wednesday, another lesson. She’s not even surprised when James shows up on time, which is a fantastic relief. She busies herself with today’s catastrophe (they’re out of persimmons) until it’s time to meet the boys in the square, which is apparently now their habit.

After one bite of his burger from Lucas’s, James asks why they ever bother with Alfred’s.

“Because we couldn’t eat every meal at Lucas’s,” Lily explains. “We’d get tired of it.”

“Although we never get tired of eating breakfast there,” Harry says.

“And we never get tired of the burgers.”

“We could probably eat there every meal and not get tired of it.”

“Dear Merlin, why _have_ we been eating anywhere else?”

“Because Alfred and the others are our friends.”

“Oh. Right.” She nods at James. “There you have it.”

“You’d rather eat the mystery—whatever it was that we ate last week,” James says, “than stop eating there and maybe _possibly_ offend someone.”

“Yes,” she says decisively, shoving a chip in her mouth.

A duck waddles up to them, and Harry tosses a piece of chip on the grass near him.

“No,” Lily whines. “Now they’ll all come over here.”

“He looked hungry.”

“He did, didn’t he.” She studies the duck, and then drops some of her own chip. “That is some love right there, offering a chip,” she tells the duck, who’s busy snapping up Harry’s offering. “I don’t do that to just anyone, you know.”

“Oh,” James says, “by the way, Sirius wanted me to make sure I told you that he passed on the message about Saturday. Any idea why he needed you to know that?”

“Ohhh, no idea. None whatsoever. Always thought he was an odd duck.”

“We’ll be thinking of you on Saturday,” Harry says. “Then we’ll die from eating too much ice cream.”

“Right,” James says. “That’s normal.”

Lily throws some more chips at the duck, whose friends have now waddled up to join him. Or they were friends, anyway, until they find the others with food.

They finish their burgers and toss the boxes in nearby bins, leaving behind a Lord of the Flies scenario among the ducks.

“Well,” James says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That’s the lesson and dinner, then. Even sparked chaos for dessert.”

Lily watches Harry bounce on the balls of his feet, his lips pressed together, like he’s trying not to blurt something out.

She knows what he wants. And since he’s done such an excellent job of not pushing—he even voluntarily sat between her and James on the bench.

“We’re going to watch The Godfather,” she tells James. “D’you want to join us?”

“Um, maybe. Is it any good?”

Lily stares at James, and then swivels to gape at Harry. “Is it any good, he asks.”

“It’s not _that_ important of a movie, really,” Harry says contemplatively. “Only one of the most classic films ever made. But not important.”

“You _need_ to watch with us,” Lily says, wrapping her arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re already stocked up on sweets.”

James flashes her a genuine smile and follows them home. She shushes him whenever he asks a question because rule two (after Always Have Caramels) is No Talking, but doesn’t even seem to mind. They even progress onto the sequel because it’s early yet, and they’re having fun, and why not?

As usual, though, Harry falls asleep on the sofa toward the end, and Lily prods him until he heaves himself to his feet and stumbles off to bed. He might be a nocturnal teenager, but dueling is exhausting. He hasn’t built up James’s stamina yet.

At this point there’s still half an hour of The Godfather Part II left. James is obligated to see it, and therefore Lily is obligated to stay awake with him. He stays properly on his end of the sofa, and her sidelong glances confirm he’s raptly paying attention to the film.

She is possibly a bit put out by this.

Maybe just a little.

Barely at all, really.

Finally the credits roll, and she spells on the lights.

James turns to her and smiles. Not his seductive one, just a happy, vaguely sleepy one.

“Well,” he says, “that was interesting.”

“Interesting. That’s all you have to say after watching one of _the_ best movies of all time.”

“I’m not a film critic.”

“Clearly.”

He’s sunk into the sofa over the past several hours, resting his feet on the coffee table, looking utterly pleased and at home.

James at home in her home.

And fucking fuck, but that’s attractive.

She hurls herself across the sofa to straddle him, her lips meeting his, and whatever sleepiness he showed vanishes in an instant, his mouth matching hers move for move. Her hands settle on his bony shoulders for stability, while his wander up to grasp her sides.

He tastes like the black licorice she served him earlier. She bought it even though she doesn’t care for it, and fooled herself into thinking she was getting it for anyone but him.

“You did a really great job of pretending you don’t want me,” she says vaguely between kisses.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” she says, her hands clenching around James’s t-shirt as his teeth nip at the crook of her neck. She tries to arch herself up to close any space between them, but his grip on her sides keeps her in place.

His breath tickles against her skin. “Then what did you want?” he says, and resumes his attention to her neck.

“I—I—something. I wanted something but fuck if I can remember what.”

She grabs his head with both hands, palms over his ears, and tugs him up to meet her mouth.

The movie credits play behind them until the tape runs out, leaving them snogging like teenagers to the muted sound of static. His hands have started wandering up the inside of her shirt, his fingers exploring the small divots in her lower back, drawing a shiver out of her. She twirls a lock of his textured hair around her finger and pulls gently, eliciting a groan from him.

She opens her eyes to watch his eyelids flutter shut, lashes dark against his cheeks.

He looks so perfectly in place sandwiched between her and her sofa. Although it might be their sofa soon, actually. If their conversation in September goes a certain way—

But what if he wants her to move in with him?

Right. _Right_. There was a reason she wasn’t starting anything with him. Damn his attractiveness for distracting her.

She’s just going to kiss him for one more minute.

Or maybe two.

After three, she manages to pull away.

“Where would we live?” she asks, watching his swollen lips.

“I will live anywhere you like so long as you shut up,” he says, and goes for another kiss.

Her palm presses his chest back, and she sinks down to fully sit on top of him, resting her weight on his lap. He’s predictably hard beneath his jeans.

She only feels mildly guilty for asking, “Would you move in here?”

He sinks back into the sofa and pulls his hands out from under her shirt, instead lightly grasping her hips. His face scrunches up for a second, and then he blows out a slow stream of breath.

“Dear _Merlin_ , but you can manage a mood change.”

“These are important questions. I’m not moving to your place, by the way.”

“Fine, I’ll live here. Can we get back to the kissing now?”

“But I’ll never live it down if we get together and you move here. Miss Trembley will give me that awful, knowing look every time she sees me.”

“Then move in with me. I’ve got plenty of space.”

“There’s not room for you in the closet here.”

“We’ll make space. Magic works that way.”

“But I don’t want to move.”

“So I’ll move here. Kissing?”

She considers James, his face half-shadowed by her lamp. He’s so obliging right now, but she’s fairly confident it’s not just his dick talking.

She says, “I want to keep my sofa.”

“ _Merlin_ , Lily, I don’t care, all right? I’m not tied to my house or my furniture. Except I do really like my bed.”

“You do have a good bed,” Lily says fondly. “We can take your bed.”

“Bloody brilliant. Is that all, then?”

He’s giving her an exasperated look, but she knows him well enough to see he’s not really bothered. He’s very likely pleased, in fact, about this line of inquiry.

So while she’s at it.

“Do you want more children?”

James’s head drops backwards to rest against the sofa. “ _Lily_.”

“Because if we’re doing this, it’s for good.”

He wearily lifts his head. “I don’t know, I haven’t—I mean, maybe later? Once Dumbledore offs Voldemort, I reckon I might consider it, but right now….”

She makes a small, acknowledging noise. It’s not an unreasonable position to take, really.

“Do you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says pensively. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“But you just asked me.”

“I only just realized it was a consideration.”

“Then let’s agree to decide later.”

She shakes her head, her hair sliding back and forth across her back. “We need to decide now. What if we disagree and don’t know it until later? We might be miserable. You might hate me. Or I might hate you.”

“Fine,” he says, fingers inching down toward the hem of her shirt. “I’ll think about it. You’ll think about it. We’ll talk. Deal?”

She nods once. “Now go home. I need to take care of myself.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“I _said_ we should wait until September.”

“And then you jumped on top of me!”

“And you should have pushed me off,” she says consolingly. “You know me. I have no impulse control.”

“Neither do I. Why are we considering having more children together?”

“Because we might accidentally have another, thanks to our poor impulse control.”

“Ah. Right.”

She slides off of him, and helps him to his feet. When he’s standing, slightly sideways of course, she reaches up to peck his lips. It’s only by reminding herself that her son is all to close that she refrains from doing anything more.

“I am sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean for that to go…basically anywhere that it did.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ll try to be less attractive next time.”

“Consider doing something awful to your hair,” she says as she walks him out. “Have you ever tried a mohawk? I bet I’d find that enough of a turn-off.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.” At the door, he bends down to give her one last lingering kiss. “Right. Going straight home to bed.”

“Your excellent bed.”

“Yes, my excellent bed, and if you want a refresher on how excellent it is, I’d be happy to refamiliarize you with it at any time.”

She grins and pushes his shoulder with three fingers, sending him out onto the steps. Despite the evening chill flooding in through her doorway, she’s thoroughly warmed, inside and out.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” she says. “Good night, James.”

He smiles back at her, crooked and, well, happy. “Good night, Evans.”

\--

When Lily steps outside to fetch the local paper the next morning, Millie from next door pounces.

“I saw James go home with you last night when I was in the square,” Millie says in her throaty voice, “but I didn’t see him leave before I went to bed.” She proceeds to waggle her blonde eyebrows enough that Lily worries they might fly off altogether.

“No, just stayed up late watching a movie,” Lily says, and tries to escape back into the house.

“What did you three do?” Millie starts, following Lily as she walks.

And the questions just keep coming. Lily has to stand on the porch, sending longing glances inside and answering in monosyllables.

After ten minutes of unwanted conversation, Harry comes in search of Lily, no doubt assuming a pit appeared in the yard and swallowed her up. (Which would no doubt induce the same, smothering feeling as this conversation). He rescues her from Millie’s clutches by lying about burning food in the kitchen.

Lily can’t hardly cross the street the rest of the week without someone bothering her about James’s late night visit. It might be worth settling down with James just to stop the incessant chatter.

She’s never been more excited to go to Diagon Alley, where she can be anonymous for once. She and Harry have a nice long lie-in on Saturday and head out after coffee. They Floo because he doesn’t have his Apparition test until early next week, which Harry gripes about only briefly.

The atmosphere on Diagon is as jovial and as busy as ever. Either news of Voldemort’s return hasn’t reached the shops, or everyone has retreated here for a deliberate reprieve. The only sign of any unease is a couple of hushed whispers in shop corners, eyes darting about in search of eavesdroppers.

In Flourish and Blotts, Harry wanders around the defense section while she picks up a new book on warding for herself. Her existing ones are excellent, but it never hurts to catch up on the latest research. She forces herself not to slip into a depression over why she needs it, and shells out for their new library additions.

Then they stuff themselves with a ridiculous amount of ice cream, trying to sample every flavor between the two of them, and stagger back to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home.

After they recover from their afternoon of mutual complaining, they settle cross-legged on the floor in front of the sofa with their new purchases. Harry cracks open his new Defense book first.

It’s not as bad as they expected.

It’s worse.

No practical information, no wandwork diagrams, nothing but crap theory content.

“Who the hell assigned this book?” Lily says, flinging it to the side. It lands on the floor with a thud and slides to a halt near the staircase.

“Still not as bad as Lockhart’s books,” Harry offers.

“How lovely that we’re forced to compare anything to his steaming piles of shit.”

“I know. Thank Merlin for Dad, right? His lessons might be the only practical experience I get all year.”

Lily glances at the discarded textbook and sighs. “I never thought I’d say it, but yes. Thank Merlin.”

\--

She has reason to repeat the sentiment on Monday afternoon. Half her staff are out sick from the same virus going around, Manny’s late with the linens again, and her beloved chef started a small fire in the kitchen. Lily races around the inn all day putting out metaphorical and literal fires, not even stopping for lunch, until Harry grabs her arm as she bolts by the front desk.

“Mum,” he says in a quiet voice, “my Apparition test?”

She utters a curse and glances at the clock – they have ten minutes. But she has to Conjure more towels (as poor quality as they’ll be, they’re _something_ ) and contact her insurance agent for the fire damage and bring the promised whiskey to Mr. Grimes’s room and—

“Sweetie,” she says gently, “I’m sorry, we might have to reschedule – I just can’t leave right now. You know I absolutely would if I could, but you’ve seen what’s going on—”

“We could ask Dad.”

Harry suggests it so calmly. Not as a desperate _I want to see my Dad_ suggestion, but as a sensible option.

Lily says, “Oh.”

Her brain whirs, thinking of reasons why James can’t, but with half her brain on smoke-dispelling charms, all she comes up with is, “He might not be able to—”

“He’s free.”

“How did you—you already asked him.” She tries not to let disappointment cloud her voice.

Harry, the dear, looks sheepish. “Only because I knew you might not be able to. I saw the fire damage, and—”

“Go!” she says, because there’s no time for her to be jealous or annoyed. Her son has a test to pass. “You don’t want to miss it!”

Harry takes a reluctant step backwards. “Are you all right with this—”

“It makes perfect sense, now _go_! I don’t want to see you again until you’ve passed.”

“So if I fail I’ll go home with Dad?” he asks, walking backwards away from her.

“That’s exactly what I meant. Out!”

She only lingers to make sure Harry disappears into the Floo, and then hurries back to the kitchen.

This is what other couples have, the ability to rely on each other to support their kid.

Merlin, but it’s brilliant. Freeing, really.

Which isn’t to say she’s fine with missing Harry’s test. It’s his Apparition test and she _should_ be there. She’s supervised some of his practices and he’s going to ace it, so it’s not like she’s going to get another chance to be there when he steps out of the exam area.

Her disappointment would no doubt have persisted if she hadn’t had a hundred different things to deal with, and if Harry hadn’t Apparated right in front of her at the lobby desk an hour after he left.

She’s got her wand aimed at him before she even registers that it’s her son.

“This is how manslaughter happens,” she tells him with a stern look. Then she drops the frown and Apparates to the other side of the desk to engulf him in an enormous hug.

He allows the hug, but remains still, no doubt thanks to the attention of a gaggle of guests filing by and gawking at them.

After a much too short embrace, she takes pity on him and holds him at arm’s length. “My little boy, finally allowed to get himself around at last.”

“I knew how to Floo, you know.”

“Not the same and you know it.”

She looks around for James, a thank-you in her throat, but he’s nowhere in sight.

“He had to run off to something,” Harry said. “I said I could get back on my own.”

“And so you could.” She pats him on the head, and he glares at her.

“I’m not a dog.”

She ruffles up his hair, eliciting a noise of protest from him.

“No, but I’ve always wanted one, so you’ll just have to do. Now come on, I’ve got loads of things you need to help me with. We’ll celebrate tonight.”

She doesn’t have time to contact James to thank him that evening, but it doesn’t matter since she can thank him in person soon enough. Maybe she’ll even draw him aside somewhere and show him a bit of her thanks – just so long as things don’t get out of hand, there’s no reason she can’t relax her injunction just a _bit_ ….

\--

On Wednesday Harry takes up his usual space in the lobby at ten to four, and makes a show of reading a magazine. He seems unaware that the one he’s picked up is about knitting, but Lily can’t fault him. Since he discovered that he has very little to look forward to at Hogwarts, James’s lessons have become all the more critical.

She turns back to checking over the reservations for tonight, looking up only when the clock chimes four.

Harry’s abandoned his pretense to stare at the door.

James has never managed to enter _exactly_ as the clock chimes, of course. But he’s never really late.

A minute ticks by. Harry picks up the magazine again and hides his face.

Lily silently pleads for James to just be late.

But after five minutes Harry can’t take it, and frankly neither can she.

She goes over and sits on the armrest of the sofa. “I’m sure he’s just caught up in something,” she says. “It’s only been a bit.”

Harry sets the magazine on the coffee table. “I know,” he says, although his tone says otherwise.

Lily distracts him by recounting a story from the morning about a guest, a tiny dog, and a telescope. He forces a laugh at the end, and when she looks up again, it’s ten after.

Which turns into quarter after, and then half past.

Harry’s posture declines with every minute, until he’s practically lying down.

Lily’s stomach is a bundle of interwoven knots. James never said whether he was going on a mission this week—which is perfectly natural, he _shouldn’t_ tell her—but she can’t think of a good reason that he’s not here, or why he hasn’t sent word.

She marches to the Floo and calls for James’s house.

After half a minute, no one’s replied to her shouts, leaving her to examine an empty kitchen. She tries to step through, but his wards block her from entering.

She leans out of the fireplace to find Harry pacing around the lobby furniture. One of his hands keeps mussing up his hair, a gesture she would much rather see on the original copy right now.

She tries again, and this time hollers, “ _Sirius!_ ”

Finally he answers.

“Hold on a minute—shit!”

She hears a clang and a crash from the distance, and then Sirius staggers into view, wiping his hands on an oily rag.

He frowns when he sees her. “Evans?”

“Have you seen James?” she asks, working very hard to remain calm. “Only he was supposed to meet Harry half an hour ago, and we haven’t heard from him….”

The blood vanishes from Sirius’s face. “He was supposed to get back last night. I assumed he….” Without another word, he’s on his feet and striding out of the kitchen.

“Oi, Sirius, wait!”

He dashes back into view, looking annoyed. “What?”

She's about to say “Wait for me,” but she's not in the Order yet, and she won't leave Harry with no parents to look after him.

“Well," she says, “just—tell me when you find him, okay? We’re worried.”

Sirius gives her a level look. “Not just Harry?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Now go fucking find him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius says, disappearing out of view again.

Lily pulls out of the Floo and climbs to her feet, her mind and heart eerily calm, a pond in early morning.

Harry’s right behind her, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Well?” he demands.

“Sirius will find him,” she says.

That’s what it is, really. If anyone in this world will find James once he’s missing, it’s Sirius Black.

Harry says, “Was it….”

“Yes,” she says, and then Harry is clinging to her, arms banded around her back. “Don’t worry, though. Sirius will bring him home.”

\--

Restlessness doesn't set in until later, when they go home with Chinese in hand. Harry has to talk her out of contacting Dumbledore at least five times because whatever Dumbledore knows, he’s certainly not going to tell Lily. All he’ll do is reassure her that James will return when he can.

She knows this, and yet when Harry goes to the toilet, she scrounges around her living room in search of a blank piece of parchment.

Harry wrestles it out of her grasp when he finds her scribbling a harried message.

"He won't let you join if you prove that you're mad," Harry says, holding the parchment out of reach. Curse James for giving his son that height.

She's not used to playing the woman sitting at home, helpless to do anything useful. She’s no idea where he is, no idea what he was doing or how she could help.

"But what if Sirius went to find James without talking to Dumbledore,” she says, “and Dumbledore doesn’t know James is missing?"

"You know he didn't because Sirius isn’t an idiot."

"He's not," Lily sighs.

"Come on." Harry tugs at her arm. "Let's watch The Princess Bride."

"Only if we take a drink every time Vizzini says inconceivable."

"Deal," Harry says, and she lets him drag her to the living room.

Her precious son does everything he can to distract her, which is so unfair. It's her job to soothe his nerves.

She tells him so as Inigo and Fezzik search for the man in black.

"I've seen Dad duel recently," Harry tells her. "Trust me, he'll be fine."

“I should’ve joined the Order right away.”

“Mum.” Harry clasps her hand, his palm damp with sweat. “Stop it.”

The Princess Bride was a terrible choice of film because Buttercup’s sitting around, waiting for the man to do all the work, and Lily doesn’t approve of that behavior at all.

Lily should be out there looking for James, but _Harry._

She can’t seem to stop going in circles on this. She never had this difficult a time staying at home when she was seventeen. Then again, she was in an exhausted daze most of the time back then. Single parenting was not conducive to fighting evil.

The movie choice becomes even more obviously awful when Inigo has his moment, all _you killed my father, you son of a bitch_ , and that’s when she looks over to find Harry squeezing his eyes shut.

“He’ll be fine,” she tells Harry. “You know he will.”

“Yeah,” Harry says tersely. “I know.”

“It’s probably something stupid. Maybe he ran off to be an emu racer.”

“Definitely what happened, that.”

“So we’re worrying over nothing.”

Harry nods, his jaw clenched.

Her poor son. Merlin, what’s she been doing fretting all evening? Harry needs to come first, as always, and here she’s been, whinging at length.

She reaches over to rub his shoulder. “He’ll be back soon.”

Harry stares at his lap. “But what if he doesn’t?”

“He _will_. He has to. Otherwise I’ll kill him.”

“Can I help?”

“Absolutely.”

He offers her the faintest of smiles, there and gone again like a firefly’s glow, and turns back to the movie. The Prince is about to get humiliated. Usually Harry and Lily shout about how outrageous it is that Westley doesn’t kill him, but tonight they both seem content to let the villain get away alives.

Lily imagines James in a multitude of places – a Death Eater dungeon, a campground in the woods, a luxurious flat in London – and yet the image that comes to mind the most is the one from last week, of him sitting at home on her sofa.

A few tears well up in her eyes, but she doesn’t want Harry to see in case it sets him off. She lets them roll down her cheeks, and as soon as the movie ends, she whisks all their rubbish off to the kitchen, where she quickly swipes the tracks off her face.

Harry follows her into the kitchen and lingers by his bedroom door. “We should sleep,” he says, although he doesn’t sound certain about it.

Her big empty bed waits for her upstairs.

“That would be the responsible thing to do,” she says.

“The sooner we go to bed, the sooner we wake up and Dad’s here.”

She nods briskly. “Yes. Exactly.”

Harry makes to turn into his room, and then turns back to her. “Are you going to be all right alone upstairs?”

She can see right through her son, but she doesn’t even mind his attempt at manipulation.

“You know,” she says, “would you mind terribly—you don’t have to—would you sleep upstairs with me? I think I’ll sleep better.”

“If it’ll help,” Harry says graciously.

“It will. Immensely.”

She’s not lying. She will sleep better with Harry in the same room, both of them safe as houses.

Harry changes into his pajamas and crawls into bed with her. There was a time when she couldn’t keep him out of it. To have him here, willingly at age seventeen, is a miracle on par with Westley’s return from death.

She would give a lot, though, to not need this miracle.

After she’s turned out the lights, she studies her son’s face, his familiar glasses gone for once. He’s still so very young. Too old for crawling into his mum’s bed, but too young to hope that his dad isn’t dead.

She and James had to go through that at such a young age. No one should have to bury their parents, especially not before they’re thirty. It should be a law, really.

She resists the urge to kiss Harry’s forehead, and turns over to her other side.

James will be back in the morning. He has to be.

\--

The first rays of sunlight brush against her eyelids, drawing her away from sleep. She gives a lazy groan and rolls over, trying to drift back off. It’s a trying task because her mind keeps circling over the same thoughts.

What if James is still out there? What if he needs her? What if he’s waiting for her to rescue him?

Sirius will find him. Sirius will save him so Lily can stay with her son. Then Harry will go back to Hogwarts, won’t need someone there for him, and she can run off and be the idiot in danger.

In many ways she hasn’t been looking forward to joining the Order, but it’ll be worth it to be able to _do_ something.

She wavers on the edge of sleep, but eventually she gets out of bed, slips on her maroon robe, and goes downstairs to make coffee.

Only then does she realize she’s dreaming because James is at her kitchen table. He’s sitting on a chair, slumped forward with one hand propping up his face, with bits of leaves in his hair and inky bags under his closed eyes.

A cup of coffee sits in front of him, untouched.

He stirs at her entrance, shaking his head awake, and blinks up at her.

“Hi,” he says, pushing himself off the table to stand.

She stares at him for half a moment, and then leaps forward to crush her mouth against his.

This is no dream kiss. He is really, truly there.

Her hands snake around his back, pulling him closer. They’re completely flush but it’s still not enough, and she grinds her hips up against his, trying to imprint every inch of him against herself, and she allows herself to have the thoughts she refused to have last night.

Why the _fuck_ was she so adamant about waiting?

She should have kissed him every time she saw him, should’ve invited him to stay the night, should’ve _acted_.

Instead she idled away, wanting but not taking, and no wonder she’s been miserable about it because _that’s not her_.

James isn’t either, which is why he asked almost right away, and she should’ve listened to her instincts, too.

She _belongs_ with James. She had to wait so very, very long for him, but now he’s here, in her kitchen, drinking out of her coffee mug (a mistake she will never let him repeat), and rightfully tucked between her and her arms. He’s here and there’s nowhere he’d rather be and he’s _here,_ in every sense of the word.

She’s crying.

James is busy nibbling at her lips, but now he pauses, his mouth hovering over hers. “I never thought I’d use the word _wet_ to describe a kiss. Or at least a kiss where we were both wearing trousers.”

She laughs through her tears and her heart aches because how could she ever have thought they wouldn’t end up together?

His face is smudged with dirt, but she kisses his cheeks, one on each side of his long nose. He ducks down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I wouldn’t mind a daughter,” she says through a smile.

“The kitchen table’s right here, ready for action.”

His eyes have locked on hers and can’t seem to look away. This is just fine because she can’t seem to manage that either.

Her whole chest is flooded with warmth, like basing in the sun after weeks of dreary, drizzling rain.

“Your bed’s more comfortable,” she says. “Why don’t you move it in today?”

“I’m really wanting to make good on that table, though.”

“We can do the table tomorrow.”

“We eat on that table,” Harry comments.

Lily has to stop her barnacle attack on James to turn around, but it’s her son, so she unwinds her arms and steps back.

Harry’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms folded. “Not that I don’t support this. Keep going. Just please, not the table.”

“Sweetie,” Lily says, placing one of her hands on James’s shoulder, “sometimes when a man and a woman love each other very much—”

“No.” Harry is trying so hard to be firm and imposing, but it’s completely ruined by the enormous grin splitting his face. “I will never come back to this house if you do.”

“If you find out about it,” James says.

“I’m moving to Hogwarts early.”

“You instigated this,” Lily says. “You tried to hook us up.”

“Not so you could ruin my breakfast place. That’s my favorite place.”

“But we never eat breakfast here.”

“I drink coffee here. That’s like pre-breakfast. So it’s still part of breakfast.”

“I think there’s only one solution,” James says gravely. “We’ll have to get a second kitchen table.”

Harry makes a beeline for his bedroom. “It’s too early for this.”

James steps out of Lily’s grasp and blocks Harry from entering his bedroom.

“First things first,” he says, and throws his arms around Harry.

Lily can see Harry’s hands trembling at his sides before they come up to grasp James’s arms.

Her poor son. This is an awful lot to take in for one morning. She’d feel worse for him if she were capable of feeling anything other than elation at the moment.

When her partner and her son finally separate, she says, “Let’s go to Lucas’s to celebrate.”

Harry sighs. “But we always go to Lucas’s.”

“Yes,” she says, grinning, “but today we can ask him to spell out _Congratulations on not being dead_ with blueberries.”

James looks to Lily. “He’d need a very large pancake for that.”

“Or many smaller pancakes.”

“One per letter?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You couldn’t eat that many pancakes.”

She beams. “Want to bet?”

“Don’t take that bet,” Harry warns.

“I’ve gambled enough this week.” James nudges Harry into his room. “I’m good with what I’ve got, thanks.”

Harry makes a show of rolling his eyes while he closes his bedroom door.

When it’s shut, James silently dashes back to Lily, where he twines his arms around her lower back and kisses her. This one isn’t desperate like before. For once in his life, James has found a scrap of patience, and she has no complaints. They have time, now.

“We are definitely doing it on the table, though,” he says. “Once Harry’s on the train.”

She rests her cheek against his chest and clings to his shoulders. He smells like he’s been missing for several days, and his t-shirt has a few burrs stuck to it in places, but she can’t let go. He might leave, then, and he is not allowed to do that again.

She tilts her head back to smile up at him. He’s here. He’s ready. And most importantly, he’s alive.

“It’s a date.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Easter Dessert](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9618416) by [LimesLarkesandSwans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimesLarkesandSwans/pseuds/LimesLarkesandSwans)




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